


Bite-Size Love: Second Verse

by heartbash



Series: Bite-Size Love [3]
Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: AJ makes us proud, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Continuing to fix canon as I see fit, Dr. Akopian hot takes, Established Relationship, Extravagant dates to compensate for insecurities, F/M, Family Issues, Feels, Gratuitous Karaoke Moments, Mental Health Issues, More drama with open mic guy, Parental issues GALORE, Paula gets the recognition she DESERVES, Post-Canon, Rebecca was right all along!, Rebecca-typical backsliding, Rebetzel's After Dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartbash/pseuds/heartbash
Summary: After the events of Bite-Size Love, Rebecca and Nathaniel start dating. While they both have come a long way when it comes to personal growth, they still have to grapple with deep-seated insecurities and baggage from their past. Set over the series . . . of holidays, leading up to the opening of the new location of Rebetzel’s on Valentine’s Day, Rebecca attempts to slay the final dragon - that is, cultivate a romantic relationship that can go the distance.
Relationships: Rebecca Bunch/Nathaniel Plimpton
Series: Bite-Size Love [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779049
Comments: 35
Kudos: 71





	1. New Us

** Part Five: We’ll Never Have Problems Again (Reprise) **

**October 22, 2020**

“If you could not, like, actively make people want to barf in my Home Base, that would be super,” Heather grumbles from behind the bar. “You know there are children present, right?”

Rebecca pulls back from Nathaniel’s lips with a wet smack and Heather recoils in disgust. Perched on two barstools next to each other, they’ve been pointedly ignoring the stack of legal documents in front of them in lieu of shamelessly making out. 

“Kids have to learn sometime,” Rebecca says as she settles more firmly back down into her seat, wiping at her bottom lip. “Plus, his face is just so damn kissable, isn’t it? How can I resist kissing that face?” Rebecca cups Nathaniel’s cheeks and squeezes, her ten bright red nails a stark contrast against his skin.

He grins sheepishly up at Heather, his hair tousled from Rebecca’s ministrations, his lips stained with rosy pink lipstick.

Heather rolls her eyes. “Sure, I guess he’s attractive in that basic, interchangeable white guy kind of way.”

Rebecca leans forward to kiss him again and Heather interjects, “Maybe you can take that face to a private place where I don’t have to watch you swallow it whole. Just a suggestion.”

Nathaniel gently removes Rebecca’s hands from his face. Tamping down a smile, he says, “Heather is right. And we need to sign this lease agreement soon if we’re going to open new Rebetzel’s by the end of this series. Of holidays. You mentioned you want to open by Valentine’s Day.” He flicks his wrist to look at his watch and adds, “And I have to get back to the office soon anyway.”

Satisfied, Heather walks away to speak with a server at the other side of the bar. 

“But making out is so much more fun,” Rebecca whines, lacing her fingers with his.

His eyes follow Heather until she’s safely out of earshot. With a smirk he says, “No one’s going to tell me I can’t kiss my girlfriend in public.” He sneaks a light kiss at her jawline and she shivers, a rash of goosebumps spreading up her arms. His lips hovering just below her ear, he rests his hand on her upper thigh and whispers, low and hungry, “I have an even better idea. How about we go in the back, take some clothes off? Like old times.”

Rebecca instantly stiffens at his words. Those memories, while undeniably sexy in that dangerous, forbidden way that has fueled many a late-night fantasy, also elicit a mental red flag, like an annoying push notification in her brain. To her, _old times_ represent the time in her life post-Josh, post-suicide attempt, when romantic intimacy was off-limits – a threat to her recovery. Love was a choice between literal life and death. Her entire faith in their new relationship relies on the fact that she’s better, he’s better, and they’re better together than _old times_. No more cheating, lying, or scheming. No more sex as a dirty secret, behind the backs of others. No more _old times_.

Nathaniel leans back and searches her face. “Where’d you go?”

“Old times?” she repeats back to him, a warning in her voice.

Nathaniel shuts his eyes briefly. “Wrong . . . choice of words. Sorry.”

“Maybe we need to have a bigger discussion about the problematic nature of – “

Rebecca stops when Nathaniel’s focus redirects to the front door behind her, his face going slack. She swivels around on her barstool to see Greg entering Home Base. Like a moth to a flame, his eyes immediately hone in on her and he pauses, as if he’s tempted to turn on his heels and walk right back out. Rebecca instinctively waves, her movements jerky and awkward. 

With no other choice now that they’ve acknowledged each other, Greg walks over to where they’re sitting. Rebecca quickly removes her hands from Nathaniel’s lap, straightening her posture, and Nathaniel’s eyes drop to the floor as if he was caught in some criminal act.

“Heyyy,” she says, her voice climbing up to an uncomfortable octave. 

Greg holds his pointer finger up in a _one minute_ gesture to Hector, who is seated at a booth on the other side of the bar. Rebecca and Nathaniel hadn’t even noticed him with how preoccupied they were with each other.

“Hey guys,” Greg says, hesitation in his voice. “Um, listen, I don’t want things to be awkward every time we see each other. I came to your show last Friday.”

Rebecca and Nathaniel exchange furtive, guilty glances.

“Obviously, you two are together. Which is great. I’m happy for you. Really,” he says, lackluster, as if he’s trying to convince himself and failing miserably. 

“Thanks,” she says, unable to think of anything articulate to say to alleviate the tension. She’s sure this is one of those moments where she’ll come up with the perfect reply hours later, in the middle of the night when she’s lying awake in bed.

Greg takes a step forward, as if he’s going to abandon the conversation and join Hector, but then he stops himself. “Sorry, Rebecca, can we talk privately for a second?” His eyes dart from Rebecca to Nathaniel, silently asking permission.

“Sure,” Rebecca says softly and hops off the barstool. Nathaniel’s face is painted with a neutral expression she can’t read. 

Greg leads her to a corner that’s empty save for a few kids who are rough-housing in a booth a few feet away. 

He takes in a deep breath, then says, “I want to apologize.”

“Apologize?” she repeats, taken aback. “Apologize for what?”

“For how I acted at Valencia’s wedding. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while. Actually, I came to the open mic hoping to talk to you, but then . . . “

“Right,” she says with a breathy laugh. “Then I turned the night into my own personal rom-com complete with a showy grand gesture.”

He chuckles, “Something like that.” 

He smiles, a genuine smile without a trace of an ironic bite, and it reminds her of the good times they’ve shared together. It reminds her of the rare moments he let his guard down and showed her his true self. Her cheeks warm at the thought.

“Anyway,” he continues, “the wedding was neither the time nor place for that argument and some of the things I said were out of line. I’m not saying this is an excuse, but sometimes when I’m at events with a lot of alcohol . . . I get a little tense. Or, more tense than usual. So I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” she says. “That means a lot.”

Greg glances over at where Nathaniel is sitting. He and Heather are huddled close, whispering something, both staring directly at Greg and Rebecca. As soon as they’re spotted, Heather looks upward and points conspicuously as if they’ve been discussing something fascinating about the ceiling tiles all along.

“The things I said weren’t great either,” Rebecca admits, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. “And you have every right to be angry about some of the things I did to you. I know that you’re this new, evolved, mature Greg now, but you’re not a robot. You’re allowed to have feelings.”

“Maybe I _was_ waiting for you,” he blurts out, as if he hadn’t planned to say it but the words came tumbling out anyway. He breaks eye contact and rubs at the back of his neck nervously. “Maybe, subconsciously, I was waiting. And when you started spending time with Nathaniel, I got angry. That wasn’t right or fair.”

Rebecca exhales. “Wow. This is some real adult shit, huh? Admitting our mistakes. Apologizing.”

“One might say we’re growing,” he quips.

“One might,” she giggles. 

“Not physically, of course,” he jokes, holding his hand flat to the top of her head to illustrate her short stature. 

“Hilarious, as always,” she deadpans, swatting his hand away. 

Their effortless banter puts her at ease. He seems just as relieved to have the air cleared if the genuine affection in his eyes is any indication.

“What you did at the open mic – that was really brave.”

“Stop –”

“No, I mean it. Putting yourself out there like that . . . it must have been scary.”

“It was. It was really scary. You know my terrible track record with relationships. But I’ve put in the work on my mental stuff – been really consistent with therapy and keeping up on my meds – for a while now. Songwriting has become like the best coping mechanism I’ve ever had. And Nathaniel and I have become so close. Everything just fell into place, I guess.”

Greg looks over at Nathaniel, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his expression pinched. She knows what he thinks about Nathaniel. At Valencia’s wedding, he spouted off a verbal checklist of offenses, a series of condemnations of his character that rolled a little too easily off his tongue. He had been sitting on those judgments for a while and she wonders how deep-seated they are and whether he realizes Nathaniel has made big changes in his life, much in the same way Greg did after he hit rock bottom.

“Greg, I know what you’ve heard about our past, but –”

Greg holds up a hand to stop her. “You don’t have to defend anything to me. It’s your life. I just hope he treats you well. That’s all.”

Her stomach drops. His words – intentionally or not, she’s unsure – echo a similar conversation they had years ago. Then, it was about Josh and her depressing, desperate attempts to gain his affections through ping pong and a spring-loaded dresser drawer. Whether the association is coincidental or not on his part, it puts her on the defensive, making her want to end the conversation as soon as possible.

“Well, I know this sounds cliche and it feels like we’ve said it a million times, but I hope we can be friends.”

Unconvincingly, with a twinge of disappointment, Greg says, “Yeah. Sure.”

“I’m always going to care about you. I hope you know that.”

“Me too,” he says softly. “Should we hug? This seems like a hugging moment.”

“Sure,” she says, nodding, and opens her arms to him. 

Greg wraps his arms around her waist, though his grip is a little stiff and uncomfortable. Over his shoulder, Rebecca sees Nathaniel watching them again, his jaw tight. The hug only lasts a few seconds before Greg pulls away and puts space between them. 

“Alright, I came here to meet Hector so –”

“Right.”

“Take care.”

“You too,” she says. 

As he walks away, she knows she should feel satisfied. It’s rare to get even this amount of closure after a romantic relationship ends. Yet, his recycled platitude about Nathaniel treating her well, the half-hearted hug, and the tepid well wishes leave her wanting more. She wants more than closure. She wants validation. Logically, rationally, she knows it’s absurd to want that validation from Greg, of all people, but it doesn’t stop her yearning for it all the same. She wants all her friends to jump up and down and be genuinely, truly _happy_ for her.

Craving external validation has always been her weakness, an issue that has persisted throughout her life. To her, embarking on this new romantic relationship is a monumental, earth-shattering step forward. But everyone else’s lives tick on as usual, and she has to keep reminding herself that not everything revolves around her and her dating life.

Contemplating this, she walks slowly back to the bar where Nathaniel is pretending to read over the lease agreement, as if he hasn’t been watching the entire exchange, as she knows he has.

Nathaniel clears his throat when she returns. “I think this is all set to go,” he says, adding his signature to the bottom of the last page. “Do you want to look over it any more?”

“No,” she says, distracted. She takes the pen from him as she climbs back up on the barstool and signs the document without fanfare.

As Nathaniel puts the papers into a folder, Rebecca tries to read Greg’s lips from across the room. What is he saying to Hector? 

Lost in thought, it surprises her when Nathaniel slides his hand around her back and she flinches. 

“Sorry. Is something wrong?” he asks. “How was your talk with Greg?”

She blinks and turns toward him, saying, “No, nothing’s wrong. It was good, actually. He apologized for what happened at the wedding. We made up.”

“Good. Good,” he says, nodding, his features tight with tension. “Well, Greg’s, um, Greg’s a great guy. Always liked him.” 

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m in a weird mood right now.”

Nathaniel reaches into her lap and takes her hand, trying to get her attention, “Hey, I have an idea.”

“What?”

“How about,” he says, leaning closer, “we go on a date. A real date.”

“A real date?” she repeats, wiggling her eyebrows. 

“We haven’t been leaving the apartment much lately. We should go out. Go on a fancy date. We dress up. I plan the whole thing. Something . . . romantic. What do you say?”

“Romantic?” she says, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “I say it’s a date.” She grins and tugs at his tie until she can peck him on the lips. 

“Ugh, get a room,” Heather interjects. “But not the stockroom, because I’ve had cameras installed. So, only get freaky back there if you’re OK with me watching it later.”

“You know that’s not a problem for me,” Rebecca quickly replies, which makes Nathaniel’s eyes go wide. 

Heather shakes her head in dismay and mutters, “Gross.”

*****

“In summary, basically my life is perfect,” Rebecca says, a satisfied smile on her face.

“Perfect?” Dr. Akopian asks, skeptically. “How so?” 

“Haven’t you been listening?! I’m gonna make a buttload of cash when we move Rebetzel’s to the new location. I have the perfect boyfriend with the perfect smile and a perfect ass who is all-around amazing and taking me on a _romantic_ date. I’m finally having sex again – and lots of it. My songwriting is better than ever. Everything's coming up Rebecca. Finally, I am the one who all my friends should be envious of. Who’s winning now?! Me, that’s who.”

“Do I really have to remind you again that life is not a competition?”

“I know, I know. But wouldn’t you say that if it _were_ a competition, I would totally be winning right now?”

Dr. Akopian purses her lips.

“Come on! Be happy for me!” Rebecca squeals, stomping her foot on the carpet. 

“Rebecca, I am happy for you – about your business and that you and Nathaniel have figured out your feelings for one another.”

“So what about all that isn’t perfect?”

“Well, from the story you just told, it sounds like you are still craving the acceptance of others about your relationship. It also sounds like Nathaniel may still harbor some insecurities when it comes to your relationship with Greg.”

“Uh, what? Greg? No. No. Nathaniel knows that’s long over. How did you get _that_ from my story?

“You said immediately after you made up with Greg that Nathaniel suggested you go on an extravagant date. You don’t think those two things are connected at all?”

Rebecca pauses to consider this. “No,” she scoffs. “No way.”

Dr. Akopian raises one of her eyebrows. “It wasn’t that long ago they were competing for your affection and you legitimately couldn’t decide between them. And he’s still part of your life. He’s still buzzing around you like a sad, yet sensuous, Italian housefly.”

“Wow, women of your age seem to really love Greg. I never should have shown you those photos of him.”

“Listen, Rebecca, I know you are putting a lot of stock in this new relationship. I understand why it’s important to you and that you want everything to be perfect,” Dr. Akopian says gently, leaning forward.

“I sense a big _but_ coming and I already hate it.”

“ _But_ just be mindful that those insecurities and problems don’t just disappear because you declared your love for each other. You both have a past – both separately and together. There are probably still issues you’ll have to work through.”

Rebecca pouts her lips, her forehead creasing with dismay. 

Dr. Akopian continues, “We had a very similar conversation about Greg when you two began dating.”

Rebecca bounces in her seat and leaps to her own defense. “No! This is different. I am so ready for this now. I am in a good place, a much better place than before. And, look, I’m here with you, still rocking my mental health. Not skipping sessions. Not rescheduling. Never rescheduling.”

Dr. Akopian smiles hesitantly. “I’m happy to hear that. I hope that continues.”

“Listen,” Rebecca pleads, “I really love him. And not just in that glittery way. It’s deeper than that. I know I’ve said this before but it really does feel different this time.”

“I believe you,” Dr. Akopian says reassuringly. 

Rebecca’s eyes drop to her hands and her mood shifts, turning more somber.

“What is it?” Dr. Akopian prompts.

Rebecca sighs. “I know that I’ve never made it past this part of the relationship. I fall in love with someone and go through the crazy-in-love, obsession phase. But it always blows up in my face. I never get to that next part of the relationship. The part that comes _after_ the fade to black at the end of the rom-com.”

“That’s very self-aware of you to say,” Dr. Akopian says. 

Rebecca’s voice drops, grows quiet with vulnerability and raw honesty. “I just . . . I want to make it to that next part with him. I want to build something real. I want what Heather has and what Valencia has and what Paula has with their significant others. I want . . . what everyone wants at this stage in life, you know?”

Rebecca’s eyes search Dr. Akopian’s, pleading for validation. She asks softly, “Do you think I can make it to that part?”

Dr. Akopian takes a moment to ponder the question, her eyes soft with compassion. “I may not be a couples counselor, but, as a person who’s been married for over twenty years and a person who knows you very well, I think, as long as you can communicate openly, trust each other, and face your issues head-on, you can have a successful relationship.”

Rebecca smiles, buoyed by her words.

“But remember,” Dr. Akopian adds, “no skipping –”

“Never rescheduling,” Rebecca finishes. 

Dr. Akopian smiles. “I want you to have a wonderful date. Have fun. Be in love. And continue to be mindful of what we discussed.”

“Maybe you _should_ be a couples counselor.”

“Only if I can charge double the rate,” she jokes.

Rebecca’s phone vibrates with a text from Nathaniel. Noticing the time, she says with a smirk, “Speaking of, our time is up and there is a very sexy man with killer arms and a bag of red licorice –”

“Spare me the details, please.”

“– who is also my business partner –”

Dr. Akopian interjects, “Which is something else we need to unpack.”

Rebecca rises from the couch, adjusting her purse strap over her shoulder. “Which we definitely will. At a future date and time, yet to be determined. I promise.” 

She pauses at the door and puts her hand over her heart. “I appreciate your tacit endorsement of my new relationship.”

“That’s not _exactly_ what I said –”

“It means the world to me. See you next week!”

She closes the door behind her with an optimistic spring in her step.


	2. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel takes Rebecca on their second first date, but things don't all go according to plan.

**October 31, 2020**

“Nathaniel, where are we going?” 

With the subtle smirk of someone with a secret, Nathaniel says, “It’s a surprise. I have a whole evening planned for us.”

“Well, we’re obviously driving toward LA, but where? Oooh, is it that little Italian place we went to while we were dating? Or maybe you’re taking me back to the spot in the hills where we danced to Marty Macaroon?” she asks, clasping her hands together, swept up in her catalogue of romantic memories. 

“I worry the more guesses you make, the more disappointed you’ll be with the actual date,” he says, his brow wrinkling as he casts a sidelong glance to the passenger seat of his Tesla.

She’s dressed up, as he requested. Her cocktail dress is black with a crimson rose print and a black lace overlay that hugs her shoulders. Her hair is swept up in a curly ponytail, a few loose strands framing her face. Her lips are a dirty red. He wants to kiss it off.

“OK, I’ll stop guessing,” she says, dropping her hands back to her lap. “It’s good for us to get out, isn’t it? Finally leave our apartments. Breathe some fresh air,” she jokes, referring to their sex cocooning that’s lasted the better part of three weeks.

He drums his thumbs on the steering wheel and smiles. “We left the apartment. We went to work.”

“No need to get defensive,” she teases. “We had to make up for lost time.”

He takes her hand from her lap and kisses the back of it. “Yes, we did.”

She smiles shyly, her cheeks blushing. Is there anything better?

He threads his fingers with hers and rests their joined hands on her thigh as he drives. 

The anticipation (and anxiety) he’s had for this date night has been steadily building since he proposed it at Home Base last week. Rebecca’s reaction to making up with Greg worried him and proposing a fancy date was admittedly a bit of a knee jerk reaction. Nothing like a jolt of insecurity to spur him into action. However, he doesn’t regret it. If anything, he should have thought of planning a night out on the town sooner. This is his second chance dating Rebecca and they’ve already fallen victim to their old patterns, spending the majority of their time together between the sheets. If this time is going to be different – if it’s going to last – he needs to prove to her that he’s serious about them. Tonight is the night he wants to show her they can have it all: the friendship, the sex, _and_ the romance. When she broke up with him the first time, she said she was happy but not _really_ happy. Or something. This time, he wants her to be truly happy with him.

“You look pretty,” he says, squeezing her hand, “I don’t think I’ve said that yet.”

“Thank you,” she says, tucking a tendril of hair self-consciously behind her ear. “You look very handsome . . . with clothes on.”

He grins, fondly remembering their morning spent naked together. He woke in her bed about an hour before she did and watched her doze on unaware – serene, peaceful, her face lit up by the fresh morning sun. It felt like home.

They pass a green sign that reads: _Los Angeles 10_

“You’ve been back and forth to LA a lot lately. Have you been thinking about moving back?” she asks.

The question catches him off-guard. It’s not like he’s never considered it. When he was in the final weeks in Guatemala, negotiating the terms of his return with his father, he contemplated returning to their home base firm in Los Angeles. Ultimately, two things made his decision to return to West Covina. First, resuming his work with the pro bono cases at the women’s prison. He could have found other places to volunteer his time, but he already had relationships with some of the inmates – cases still pending or unresolved – and a strategically timed plea from Paula sealed the deal. Second, Rebecca’s open mic performance reminded him of the small semblance of home and community he established in West Covina. He felt more love in that room in those few short minutes than he ever did in Los Angeles. That night pushed his decision over the finish line.

Given their newly budding relationship, he’s a little surprised she would even have to ask the question. Does she really think he would so quickly abandon her for better career opportunities?

Filling the silence, she adds, “It’s just . . . you’ve been going to your parents’ house a lot these past couple of weeks. I thought maybe it had to do with your job or something?”

“Oh,” he exhales. “Sorry. I should have explained earlier. When I say I’m going to my parents’ house, what I mean is I’m driving my mom to her physical therapy appointments.”

“Physical therapy appointments?” she repeats, tilting her head. “You drive all the way to LA to drive your mom to an appointment? I mean, that’s very sweet, but don’t you have a whole staff at your Plimpton manor to do things like that?”

“I know. It’s a little weird,” he admits. 

His instinct is to keep these details to himself. He was raised not to ever, under any circumstances, air the family’s dirty laundry. His mother’s health struggles (mental or otherwise) were always the number one item on the list to keep quiet to anyone outside their home. He has to remind himself that this is Rebecca – not only his best friend, but now his girlfriend. Communication and honesty are part of the deal. 

He explains, “The truth is, since the accident she hasn’t trusted anyone to drive her except me and my father. She won’t even drive herself, even though she’s fully capable.”

Rebecca scratches her cheek with her finger, her expression still all confusion. He gets the distinct impression she doesn’t believe what he’s saying. 

“And your dad –?”

“He’s been doing a lot of business travel lately. It would be nice if he prioritized her over his bullshit business trips. Why does the owner of the firm need to be present at a zoning litigation meeting in Tucson? The accident probably never would have happened if – Well, I won’t go there.” 

He doesn’t even try to mask his bitterness. It’s been bothering him since the accident (well, really, his whole life), how his father has no problem flying off at a moment’s notice, regardless of what’s going on with their family. After his mother’s suicide attempt, he was back at work within the week. He has a hard time fathoming it, especially when he looks at Rebecca and thinks about how he would do anything for her. If something happened to her, – if, god forbid, she was in a bad place again mentally – he wouldn’t leave her side.

“Well, I can’t say I blame her for not wanting to get behind the wheel after what happened to her,” Rebecca says. “You’re a good son. I’m sure she appreciates it.” 

“And anyway,” he adds, “West Covina feels like home to me now.”

That makes her smile – a big, toothy one that reaches up to her eyes. 

“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?” Then, “Do your parents know about me?”

Once again, the question throws him for a loop. She sure knows how to keep him on his toes. 

“Know what?”

“Know that we’re dating!” 

“Oh. Uh –”

They don’t. Despite all the time he’s spent with his mother lately, he hasn’t mentioned it. Call it jinx or superstition, but he’s afraid to tell anyone who didn’t witness her grand gesture moment firsthand. They’re crossing the precipice of time that pushes their current relationship beyond the only time they “officially” dated. There’s something about it that makes him fear saying it out loud – like some romantic spell will be broken and she’ll realize giving him a chance was a big mistake.

“Is it because of the whole Rooftop Killer thing? You think your uptight parents won’t approve? You should know your dad and I had a little bonding moment at the hospital – I don’t think he would be _that_ opposed.”

“No, it’s not that. It just hasn’t come up.” He shrugs in an attempt to pass it off as blase. 

“All this time you’ve been spending with your mom, it hasn’t come up once? It’s Mona, isn’t it? They liked Mona and you’re afraid they won’t like me as much. I can’t say I blame you. Mona is basically your parents’ wet dream of a girlfriend for you.”

“Ew, what? No, listen, we’ve only been dating a few weeks. I’ll tell them. Don’t worry.”

He clasps her hand tighter in an attempt at reassurance, but she sighs and gazes despondently out the window. Already he’s disappointed her and they haven’t even arrived at their destination.

Their destination is a swanky restaurant with a stunning view of the Hollywood sign in the distance. Nathaniel approaches the host stand with an air of confidence, eager to begin their evening. Trailing a step behind, Rebecca oohs and aahs, as impressed with the venue as he hoped. His confidence quickly fades when he notices the outdoor patio – the one he reserved just for the two of them – filled with people. It appears to be a party and his least favorite kind of party at that. A costume party. With disdain, he observes a man dressed up as a hot dog bun taking a goofy photo with a woman dressed as a hot dog. He _thought_ this was a classy establishment, not a college frat house.

“Uh, reservation under Nathaniel Plimpton,” he says gruffly to the young hostess. “I reserved the patio. All of it.”

“Plimpton,” she repeats, scanning her screen. “I don’t see that name on tonight’s list. One moment.” She presses on the touch screen and types something. “Oh, I see your reservation, Mr. Plimpton, but it’s not until _next_ Saturday, November 7th.” 

“What? No. I booked the patio for tonight.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, but this Halloween party has been booked for months.”

“Maya,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “I never should have trusted that mousy four-eyes.”

“It’s OK,” Rebecca says, gingerly touching his arm. “We can go somewhere else or –”

Shrugging off her touch, he steps away from the host stand and immediately dials Maya.

“Hello?”

“Maya.”

“Yes?” she asks timidly.

“Remember that patio reservation I asked you to book? I’m at the restaurant. They say it’s not on the books today.”

“Right. You said to make the reservation for next Saturday.”

“Which is today.”

“No. If you wanted it for today, you would have said _this_ Saturday, not _next_ Saturday. Plus, today’s a holiday. We never would have gotten a reservation on such short notice. Did you mean today?”

“Incompetence,” he says under his breath. “Total incompetence.”

“By the way, sir, I was at my _Lean In_ circle today and we should really discuss stocking free feminine products in the office bathroom –”

He hangs up without hearing the rest and curses.

“Sir?” the hostess calls to get his attention.

Nathaniel shoves his phone in his pocket and returns to the podium where Rebecca has been patiently waiting.

“I apologize about the mix up,” the hostess says. “There’s obviously no availability on the patio tonight, but we could try to find a table for you inside. Would you like a table inside?”

“No, I want the reservation I set up, which was the whole patio, but apparently everyone around me is totally incompetant,” he says, his voice starting to raise in volume.

Rebecca quietly says to him, “Hey, want to dial it down? You’re being kind of a dick.”

“Can I please speak to the manager?” he asks, ignoring Rebecca’s plea. 

“I _am_ a manager. Sir, no offense, but it’s Halloween. Did you really think –”

“Yeah and this is a restaurant, not a haunted house! God, I despise Halloween.”

What he despises is himself for not being clearer with Maya about the date – he should have known he needed to spell it out for her – but it’s easier to direct his anger anywhere else.

Rebecca tugs him by the arm, pulling him away from the stand, saying to the hostess-slash-manager, “I apologize for him. He’s a rich snob who’s never had to work a service job in his life.”

Once they’re far enough away to be out of earshot, she releases his arm and smacks it. “Dude. What the hell? You can’t treat people like that, especially when it sounds like this was entirely _your_ fuck up.”

He tilts his head back and purses his lips. This _is_ entirely his fault. It was a simple mistake he didn’t catch and now it’s ruined their entire evening. This date was supposed to be special, memorable. This was supposed to be his second chance. He wanted to sweep her off her feet. And now, she’s staring daggers at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says with irritation, scrubbing his hand over his face. “You’re right. I’m sorry. This night is ruined.”

Rebecca sighs, dropping her arms to her sides. “It’s not ruined. We got all dressed up and came all the way here. Let’s just do something else.” She looks off into the distance, where the Hollywood sign is starting to be cast in shadow as the sun goes down. “I have an idea.”

*****

They park at the Griffith Observatory and Rebecca leads him down a marked trail to a viewpoint. Tourists mill around, taking photos of the view of the city and the hills, but she spots a grassy clearing off to the side that affords more privacy. Nathaniel shrugs off his suit jacket and spreads it on the ground so they can both sit on it. 

“So chivalrous,” she coos. 

They both sit and huddle close together. For a quiet moment, they simply take in the views. 

After a few minutes, she says, “See, isn’t this nice?” She points to the Hollywood sign, “Once, I tried to climb up there. Did you know it’s under constant surveillance by the LAPD? Because I didn’t!”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulders. 

“I came up here to this same spot once. After Josh left me at the altar. I wandered around here all night and ended up sitting here for hours, contemplating all the things that went wrong in my life,” she says, a sadness in her inflection. “I honestly didn’t know if I could go on. If I could recover from it.”

Guilt settles heavy in his chest. His anger over the reservation mix-up is so petty and stupid in the grand scheme of things. He has a beautiful woman in his arms, a woman he’s wanted to be with for years, and he got caught up in something so inconsequential, insignificant. 

“I’m sorry about today. It was all my fault.”

“It wasn’t horrible until you started having an attitude. What is with you today? Haven’t you ever heard of rolling with the punches?”

Nathaniel sighs. “I wanted tonight to be special.”

“It _is_ special,” she says, squeezing his knee. “We’re on our second first date. That’s special.”

He untangles his arm from her shoulders, resting his forearms on his knees. Twisting his fingers together, he says with frustration, “You don’t understand. I planned a whole menu. I hired a string quartet . . .” He trails off and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Nathaniel, you didn’t have to do all that,” she says, rubbing his back. “Why are you so upset about this? Why are you putting so much pressure on this date?”

He swallows and stares at his fingers. Deep down, he knows why he’s upset. It’s more than just a missed reservation, a prix fixe menu, and an exorbitantly expensive violinist from the Los Angeles Philharmonic. 

After a long pause, he twists his fingers together and says, “It’s embarrassing.”

“More embarrassing than that?” 

She points to a couple about fifty feet away engaging in a sloppy makeout, both dressed in zombie costumes. Stage makeup is smeared all over their faces, pieces of fake blood hanging from their necks. 

“Ew.” 

“More embarrassing than shitting your pants at work?” she asks, poking him in the ribs with her elbow.

He cracks a hint of a smile, appreciating her attempt to bring levity to the situation. More than anything, he wants to open up to her. Discussing their relationship and his accompanying insecurities, however, always proves to be difficult for him. The stakes feel high. She is the one thing he cannot bear to lose; he came too close to losing her a few weeks prior and that fact became clearer than ever. 

“Do you remember Paula’s graduation party?”

Rebecca’s eyes flit back and forth, remembering, and then smiles coyly. “Yes.”

“That,” he says, pointing to her mouth. 

“What?”

“I know what happened. I overheard you and Paula talking in the kitchen that night. About what happened with you and Greg.”

“OK . . .”

“You told her how romantic your night was. You were practically swooning, just like you did when you got engaged and paraded your ring around. I just . . . I want you to know I can give you that. I can be romantic too. And emotional. I know those things are important to you.”

Rebecca starts to laugh. A big, full laugh. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, almost wheezing. “I’m sorry for laughing, but you’re benchmarking romance against Greg? _Greg?_ Of all people? I mean, he had his moments, but he may be the _least_ romantic person I’ve ever met.”

“Really?” he asks, his eyebrows raising.

“God, I can’t believe you’ve been walking around worrying about being more romantic than Greg. Greg. _Greg?_ ”

“OK, I get it. You think I’m being silly.”

“Sweetie, no, not at all,” she says, taking one of his hands. 

The term of endearment alone fills him with warmth, setting him at ease.

She continues, “I’m sorry I laughed. Thank you for telling me how you feel. But you don’t have anything to feel insecure about. And haven’t you ever heard _it’s the thought that counts_? This date didn’t need to be elaborate or expensive to be romantic. Just the fact that you planned this whole evening for us is so sweet. Even if we didn’t get to experience any of it.”

The sun begins to set, casting the Hollywood sign in a burst of oranges and yellows. Rebecca’s face glows.

“You are a very romantic person, whether you know it or not,” she says.

Nathaniel shakes his head.

“No, listen! You have done so many little things to show me you care. And that you’re romantic.”

“Like what?”

“You stuck your hand in the toilet –”

“Yeah, you keep bringing that up –”

“OK, I’ll stop using that one. When we were in the Ellison revue, you listened to me sing that song so many times you memorized the lyrics. You got up on stage in front of everyone, prepared to perform the entire thing, awkward dance moves and all. I still think back on that moment as the most romantic, thoughtful, loving thing anyone has ever done for me. And that cost you nothing. Except maybe some embarrassment.”

The sun starts to dip below the horizon, the letters of the Hollywood sign beginning to cast long, prominent shadows. When he glances back at her, Rebecca is staring at him with a concerned expression, her face aglow in a soft pinkish yellow. She’s too beautiful to look at while he feels this vulnerable, so he focuses on the shifting colors of the landscape as the sun descends slowly over the hills.

Softly, she says, “I hope you felt the same way when I sang to you on stage.” 

His throat constricts as he remembers that evening. He _did_ feel it that night. He never felt more loved than in that moment. He swallows.

“I guess singing is our primary love language,” she jokes. When he remains silent, doesn’t laugh, she continues, gently, “You’re not competing anymore. I don’t care how romantic or emotional or whatever anyone else is. _You_ are who I care about. I love you. I don’t want anyone else. Why don’t you trust me? Trust this? What more do I have to do to prove it to you?”

It feels dangerous to believe her, as much as he desperately wants to.

“Can you please look at me when I’m pouring my heart out to you?” she asks, her voice breaking with emotion.

The truth is written all over her face, in her soft, glassy eyes and her genuine smile. She’s telling the truth. She loves him and only him. He believes her.

“I love you too,” he rasps, his voice thick. He hooks his finger under her chin, raising it, and touches his lips gently to hers. They kiss. Slowly. Deeply. She rests her hand on his thigh and strokes his knee with her thumb. His tongue traces her bottom lip and she hums.

After a few minutes of heated kissing, Rebecca’s stomach audibly growls. She starts to laugh into his mouth and then breaks the kiss.

“You’re hungry,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“No, wait,” she says, holding up one finger. She unsnaps her purse and pulls out two dinner rolls. “Ta-da! I Jean Valjeaned it. Swiped them from a table when you were doing your asshole routine.”

“Oh my god.”

She hands him a roll. Briefly he considers protesting eating the stolen food, but he’s hungry and, frankly, impressed she was able to pull off such a heist in such a high-class establishment. 

“I have worked a service job before, by the way,” he says in between bites. 

“Really?”

“At the country club. My father doesn’t believe in handouts, so he made me work as a server every summer at the restaurant. It was some kind of power play. He loved to bring his buddies to sit in my section and give me a hard time.”

“Is there _any_ part of your childhood your dad didn’t ruin completely for you?”

“Funny you should say that. He’s the reason I don’t like Halloween. He didn’t let me trick-or-treat as a kid. Said begging for candy from strangers was beneath us. Of course, I wasn’t allowed to eat candy anyway, so it didn’t matter. But still.”

“After this, let’s go find one of those bags of fun size candy and just gorge ourselves,” she says, a naughty twinkle in her eye. 

“OK.”

Rebecca’s eyes widen in surprise. “OK then,” she says, her voice trailing up.

After they’re finished eating the stolen bread, he runs his fingers through her ponytail, then drapes his arm around her shoulders. She leans into him and rests her head in the crook of his neck. 

“This is the perfect date,” she says, sighing.

“You’re lying,” he replies, chuckling, “but thank you.”

“I like just being here with you. These past three weeks have been really good, haven’t they? I mean, being friends was great. Really great. And probably what I needed at the time. But, man, I didn’t realize how much I missed the sex. Even just the kissing. The intimacy. All of it.”

He smiles and kisses the top of her head. “It has been really great,” he says. Feeling bolder, he adds, “I love waking up with you again. Your face being the first thing I see.”

Rebecca lifts her head from his chest.

“What?” he asks.

“That is such a _romantic_ thing to say.”

The sun disappears over the horizon and everything is coated in darkness.

In the distance, a burst of light shoots out from the ground and climbs higher and higher into the air until it explodes into a fountain of bright blue.

Rebecca gasps.

“Ah, there are my fireworks,” he says. “Thank god I didn’t leave everything to Maya.”

Rebecca’s mouth forms into an O-shape as she watches three more fireworks launch in rapid succession into the air and then explode into shades of red and pink. One is heart-shaped.

“Even though this is completely unnecessary and officially I do not need this at all . . . I really love this,” she says, giggling. “You put _The Bachelor_ to shame.”

“I had a feeling you would like it,” he replies.

Snuggling close together, they watch as more and more fireworks fill the air. Though it may not have been the perfect date, he _has_ the perfect date in his arms. What more could he ask for?

After the show is over, Rebecca whispers, “Thank you,” and kisses him. The pressure of her lips are familiar, imply intent. She pushes him back, down until his back hits the ground, his head finding grass. Throwing her leg over his hips, she straddles him and his hands find her waist. 

When she stops kissing him and pulls back, he can’t see her face in the darkness, but he doesn’t need to to know there’s mischief on her mind.

“Want to cum in your pants tonight?” she asks, her voice husky. “For old times’ sake?”

“Do you really have to ask?”


	3. Find Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebecca accompanies Nathaniel to see his mother in order to satisfy her curiosity about his frequent trips to LA.

**November 8, 2020**

Rebecca’s still getting used to this – the warmth of his body wrapped around her when she wakes up in the morning. His fingers curl around her hip, warm and heavy. As they sleep, she tends to heat up and naturally drifts away from him, but Nathaniel always manages to keep some part of his body touching her. Sometimes it’s just an ankle over her shin or his fingertips on the small of her back. It’s a new normal, one which she’s enjoyed growing accustomed to. 

When she rolls over to face him, he stirs but doesn’t open his eyes. With the weight and lethargy of sleep, he adjusts his loose grip and smiles a sleepy smile.

It’s songwriting Sunday, a new routine-turned-tradition that came to fruition organically after she dedicated three consecutive Sundays to her trusty keyboard. Respectfully, Nathaniel gives her space on Sundays and retires to the sanctity of his own apartment to engage in his own private rituals, whatever those may be.

“Morning,” she says, her voice scratchy from sleep.

He hums and flexes his fingers, still not quite awake.

In a smooth movement, she kisses the tip of his nose and then rolls out of bed, throwing on her robe that is flung over a chair in the corner. He groans with disappointment and runs his hand over the warm spot she’s vacated.

Just before she opens to the door to her bedroom, about to venture into the kitchen to fire up the coffeemaker, he mumbles, “I’m up. I’m up.”

“You can keep sleeping. I’ll make us some coffee.”

“What time is it?” he asks, rubbing his eyes and rolling over onto his back.

“Nine-ish, I think.”

“Ah, shit, I gotta get going,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose but not getting up. 

“Going? Where do you have to be on a Sunday morning? You start going to church or something?”

“Nah, I’m taking my mom to an appointment,” he explains, finally sitting up and chucking the blankets from his lap.

“On a Sunday?”

“It’s a long story, but basically my father decided to go to Pebble Beach last minute with his buddies. Golfing trip.”

She hates that her natural inclination is to be suspicious. Ever since he started disappearing to LA with increasing regularity, she can’t help but question whether he’s telling the truth. This is what she always feared — that she wouldn’t be able to handle separations, missed calls, unanswered texts. So far she’s been able to cope with his sudden absences using methods she’s learned from DBT and Dr. Akopian. Her fear of abandonment is irrational, she knows, and she tries not to let these trips trigger that lizard brain instinct to feel abandoned. Unfortunately, his history of infidelity coupled with her general distrust of men from her past relationships (both romantic and paternal) does nothing to assuage her irrational fears.

“Your dad fake golfs _and_ real golfs?” she asks.

Nathaniel chuckles, “He does, yes.”

He stands and picks up his lightweight navy sweater from the floor, which she tore off of him the night prior. He pulls it over his head and starts to search for his pants.

“This is probably my own fault,” he continues. “I’ve become so reliable he must think he’s off the hook completely.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Like I said, it was last minute. And I assumed you would be writing today. Figured it wouldn’t matter.”

All logical, all makes total sense. Yet, her tone still comes out unconvincing when she says, “Oh OK.”

“Is something wrong?”

Nathaniel spots his pants in the corner of the room and brushes by her to pick them up. 

This is the problem now. They’ve grown to know each other so well it’s hard to hide anything from him. He can read her almost too well and she worries her skepticism is written all over her face. 

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. She’s overreacting and she knows it, though that fails to stop her mind from racing. 

“You could . . . do you want to come with me?” he asks tentatively as he pulls on his now-rumpled jeans.

Her brow furrows as she tries to read his expression, which is hard to do when his focus is on buttoning his jeans and tucking in his shirt.

Did he correctly sniff out her growing suspicion and curiosity of his trips to LA? 

Or, does he want her to meet his mother? That’s a big step, especially since she is the only family member with whom he has a close relationship. Does he want to take their relationship to another level? Though, didn’t he say that his parents don’t even know about their relationship? Is _this_ how he wants to break the news? That idea seems a bit odd to her.

“And meet your mother? Are you sure?” she finally asks, after reaching the puzzling conclusion that she can’t successfully pinpoint his motives. 

Confusing her even more, he shrugs and says, “If you want to. I know you planned to write today, so it’s not a big deal either way. It was just an idea.” 

His breezy attitude does nothing to help her suss out his state of mind. 

“Um . . .”

She waffles. Songwriting is not only her passion but her best coping mechanism. The time she spends with her notebook and keyboard is special to her, almost sacred. Her impulse, though, is to jump headfirst into this situation, to get the proof she’s been yearning for that he’s telling the truth about these trips. She could see it all with her own eyes and put her fears to rest. Not that she _needs_ that proof. Not that she should fuel her own fire and indulge in these illogical speculations. The healthy thing to do, she knows, is to trust him. How many times has Dr. Akopian told her that she needs to have her own interests and hobbies and quality time outside of her relationships. She needs to have parts of her life that are separate from him. And yet . . .

“That’s OK,” he says when she’s quiet for too long, misinterpreting her silence as disinterest. “I’ll just see you tomorrow.” He drops a kiss to her cheek and makes his way out of her bedroom and to the front door.

In those handful of seconds, Rebecca panics and, as he’s reaching for the doorknob, she blurts out, “No wait! I want to come!”

When his eyes widen at her sudden change of heart, she adds quickly, “I mean, why wouldn’t I want to spend the day with my boyfriend, see where he came from, meet his mother? It’s a big step. I would love to come.”

Sadly, even as she says it, she knows it’s all a lie. She wants to tag along to fulfill her own selfish curiosity. It has zero to do with progressing their relationship and everything to do with calling his bluff, if it is a bluff. She wants to see with her own eyes that he’s telling the truth. She wants to scratch that nagging, relentless itch.

“OK, great,” he says. She senses a forced nonchalance in his tone. “I have to change my clothes. Pick you up in an hour?”

“Great, can’t wait” she says half-heartedly, giving him an awkward double thumbs up as he leaves.

*****

From the moment he picks her up, Rebecca feels uneasy about the entire scenario. He hasn’t given her any reason not to trust him, and now she’s inserting herself into a situation where she doesn’t belong. Even though he suggested the meeting, she’s imposing on a private day with his mother, and she worries at how out-of-place she will be at the Plimpton manor. And if he has been lying, then where are they going? What will happen? How long will he play this game of chicken before he confesses to the truth, whatever that may be? Her chest tightens at the thought.

After they’ve been driving a few minutes, Nathaniel uses the large touch screen on the dashboard to dial his mother’s phone number.

“I’m going to let her know I’m bringing you,” he says. With a smile, he adds, “She’s not the biggest fan of surprises.”

Rebecca laughs nervously, regretting her decision even more.

“You know, maybe this isn’t the best idea,” she says. “Springing this on your mother and encroaching on your mother-son time.”

“It’s fine,” he says reassuringly as the phone rings. “She’ll be happy to meet you and even happier that we’re dating now.”

Rebecca swallows. His mother still doesn’t know they’re dating. So she’s not only crashing, showing up uninvited, but also dropping the bomb that her son is dating the Rooftop Killer. Perfect. Brilliant.

After a few rings, the call goes to voicemail, which is not in his mother’s voice but an automated robot one. “Hi mom. I wanted to let you know I’m bringing Rebecca with me today. Um, I’ll tell you more when I see you. Also, remember what we talked about about keeping your phone with you. I tried calling you last night too. Anyway, we should be there in about thirty minutes. See you soon. Bye.”

Huh, she thinks, she’s on a first-name basis with Mrs. Plimpton and didn’t even know it.

“So . . . your mother knows who I am enough that she knows me by first name only, but you haven’t told her we’re dating. What’s that about?” 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment before answering.

“I’ve talked about you before,” he says carefully. “Obviously when we acquired Whitefeather. And, um, other times over the years. I’m sure my father told her you were at the hospital with us.”

“Oh. Can I ask . . . then why the secrecy around our relationship? I promise I’m not trying to push it, but, from what you’ve said, you and your mother are close. And you’ve been seeing her a lot lately.”

Nathaniel bites his lip for a moment. “Here’s the thing –” he starts.

Oh no. Is this the moment he comes clean?

He goes on, “The first time we dated I told my mother. And then a few days later you broke up with me. Even though I know it’s silly, I guess I didn’t want to jinx it.”

A pit forms in her stomach. More than anything, it makes her sad. Even after everything – after the song, after their declarations of love, after all the reassurance she gave him on their date – he still doesn’t trust she won’t pull the rug out from under him. 

Mentally she bookmarks the conversation for another time. She clears her throat and asks tentatively, “But you think she’ll be happy?”

He smiles and takes her hand. “I do. She’ll finally get to meet the woman I’m always stealing her roses for.”

*****

The size and opulence of the Plimpton family home only confirms Rebecca’s suspicions that Nathaniel grew up in a von Trapp-style fantasy. She wouldn’t be surprised to find out Nathaniel Sr. used a whistle to summon his son from the far reaches of its grounds. Ivy sprawls over the menacing iron gate and two impossibly tall palm trees flank either side of the front door. They remind her of the two men: tall, imposing, unwavering. 

Surprising her, Nathaniel produces a key from his pocket and opens the front door himself. For some reason, she had assumed a fancy butler named Alfred or Jeeves would answer the door and call him “Master Plimpton” and usher them inside.

Once in the foyer, Rebecca marvels at the lavish decor. Every square inch of the house is covered in furniture and art, heavy drapery and patterned wallpaper, all of it ornate, almost a caricature of how she imagined it. There is even a spiral staircase and briefly imagines her singing _So Long, Farewell_ at the end of a dinner party.

“Wow, this is. . . “

“Gaudy?” he finishes. “I know.”

“Where’s your staff?” she asks, only half-joking. She ponders how long it takes to clean and maintain her own apartment; this place must take an army.

“Bernice only works one or two days a week nowadays with the house so empty,” he explains, distracted, not catching her teasing tone. 

Rebecca follows him a few steps behind as he wanders into an adjacent room – a living room that looks barely used. It’s empty.

“Mom?” he calls, keeping his voice fairly low.

“She’s not going to hear you if she’s all the way in the East wing,” Rebecca jokes.

“My parents hate yelling, especially in the house. It’s _unbecoming_.” 

Next, Nathaniel rushes through a doorway into a formal dining area, then to the connected kitchen. Still no sign of his mother. The house is dead silent. Rebecca continues to follow close behind him, gawking at each room, how each one could be straight out of a stuffy, upscale architecture magazine. 

“I feel like I shouldn’t touch anything. Like I’m in a museum,” she says.

“It’s weird how she didn’t answer my call earlier. She didn’t pick up last night either. Isn’t that weird?” he asks, his voice tinged with worry. 

“Um, maybe? I never met her. I have no idea.” 

“I’m going to check her bedroom. I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

It’s funny to Rebecca how their home is so large that he could lose his mother in it. (Why they need a home so enormous for two people is beyond her comprehension.) Nathaniel appears to find no humor in the situation, however. His voice turned shaky and he has barely looked at her since they stepped into the house. All he could think about, she could tell, was finding his mother as soon as humanly possible.

While he’s upstairs, Rebecca finds the one spot in the home that isn’t staged and impersonal: a credenza in the living room with a series of framed family photos. Most of the pictures are formal, in coordinated outfits and planned poses. Her favorite has a kindergarten-aged Nathaniel in a suit with a baby pink bow tie. Even in these photos, the bond between Nathaniel and his mother is obvious. There’s a warmth, a closeness that jumps out of the frame, while Nathaniel Sr. is often slightly to the side, never fully smiling. A photo from Nathaniel’s teen years catches her eye and she grabs it immediately. 

“Nathaniel!” she calls, forgetting his warning about yelling in the house. “I knew you had frosted tips!” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca spots the outline of an elevator back near the staircase. She abandons the embarrassing photo and bounds back into the foyer and presses the call button several times. 

Nathaniel then descends the staircase at a rapid pace, his mother nowhere in sight. 

“You didn’t tell me you have a freaking elevator in your house!” she exclaims.

“She’s not there,” he says, his breathing labored and quick. “Where is she? Where could she be?”

His alarm takes her by surprise. This surely can’t be the first time this has happened. 

“Hey,” she says, touching his forearm, “it’s OK. This place is huge. She could be anywhere.”

“Sorry,” he says, wiping his forehead, which is damp with sweat, “something’s happening to me. Is it hot in here? It feels really hot.”

“It’s not hot, you’re panicking,” she states. 

It couldn’t be more obvious, more on-the-nose. It’s the same look he had at Rebetzel’s when he got the call that his mom was in an accident. 

Thinking on her feet, she suggests, “How about we split up? You keep searching inside since you know your way around. I’ll go outside. Text each other when we find her.” 

He’s slightly calmed by the suggestion and agrees with a slow nod.

Rebecca finds her way outside through a set of french doors. The lush, expansive gardens that greet her take her breath away. Roses – brilliant reds, shocking pinks, and pale yellows – surround her. And the smell. The air around her is filled with a fresh, light, heavenly floral scent. It’s a dream come to life. The greenery is finely manicured into rows, almost maze-like in its grandeur. It reminds her of _Alice in Wonderland_ , like at any moment a rose will begin singing to her in a warbling soprano. She can’t imagine Mrs. Plimpton maintains all of this on her own, especially in her condition. It’s easy to see how someone could lose track of time or get lost here, which further bolsters Rebecca’s confidence that they will find his mother soon, unharmed.

Rebecca weaves through row after row of flowers, finely attuned to any change in sound or movement in the landscape. She muses that it’s the perfect setting for one of her mind songs, though she can’t indulge in a daydream at the moment.

Finally, she hears a rustling to her left, which makes her jump. Between two rose shrubs, she sees Mrs. Plimpton in a wheelchair with a handheld pruning tool, tending to some pale pink blossoms. Before approaching her, Rebecca texts Nathaniel with her best approximation of where she is.

She walks around a line of bushes and hesitantly says, “Hi, um, Mrs. Plimpton?”

She looks up at the sound of Rebecca’s voice and lowers her pruning shears.

“Hi, sorry to startle you,” she says, though Mrs. Plimpton doesn’t seem startled at all. Perhaps she’s used to having strangers in her home.

Before she can explain who she is and what she’s doing here, Nathaniel runs out from behind her almost at a sprint, breathless.

“Mom,” he says with relief. He rushes up to her and bends down, hugging her.

“Nathaniel,” she says, laughing awkwardly and lightly grasping his arm, “what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Sorry, I just — I couldn’t find you. I got worried.”

“Sweet pea, I just lost track of time. That’s all.”

“Why didn’t you answer your phone? I called you last night _and_ this morning.”

“Oh, you know how bad I am with that phone. I can’t believe you have to charge those darn things _every_ day. What a bother.”

Rebecca laughs politely and the sound causes Nathaniel to finally acknowledge her, as if remembering for the first time that she’s there. He goes to her side and puts his hand on the small of her back. 

“Sorry, this is Rebecca,” he says. 

“Rebecca,” Mrs. Plimpton says with recognition. “what a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Rebecca offers her hand and Mrs. Plimpton shakes it warmly. “I’ve heard so much about you. All good things, I promise!”

“I’ve heard a lot about you too,” Mrs. Plimpton replies in a tone that’s so neutral Rebecca can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. She hopes that in between all the bits of salacious gossip from the _Daily Covina_ some positive news about her managed to slip in.

“And what brings you over today, dear?”

“Oh, um —“ Rebecca starts, her eyes going wide then darting to Nathaniel. 

Quickly it becomes clear that she should have prepared an answer to this question that isn’t the truth: _Because I didn’t trust your son! I thought you were part of an elaborate alibi to cover for your son cheating on me with a series of faceless tall, blonde women!_

When she locks eyes with Nathaniel, he is as flustered as her, his face like a mirror reflecting back her own panic. 

“Uh, she, um, wanted to meet you,” Nathaniel lies, jumping in before Rebecca can form her next sentence.

And that’s when it hits her. Nathaniel knew this entire time how she was feeling, that she doubted him. That’s why he invited her here. He wanted to prove he has been telling the truth about his trips to LA. Of course he’s been telling the truth. How could she let her lizard brain trick her into thinking otherwise? Standing in front of Mrs. Plimpton now, all of those paranoid thoughts now seem so . . . crazy.

“And I wanted to tell you,” he begins, then hesitates. His eyes flit to Rebecca and he clears his throat, as if the confession is a struggle. “I wanted to tell you that Rebecca is my girlfriend. We’re together now,” he says, resting his hand on her shoulder.

Mrs. Plimpton smiles. “Oh, isn’t that lovely? Well, I am very happy for you both.”

Nathaniel exhales and Rebecca feels the tension in his arm easing. 

“Rebecca dear, would you like to take some roses with you before we go? These are English roses, one of my favorites.”

“I would like that.”

*****

The car ride to the physical therapy is uneventful. Mrs. Plimpton takes the front seat to accommodate for her leg, which is still encumbered by a large black boot that goes up to her knee. Rebecca makes polite small talk, mostly about business – the future joint venture of the new Rebetzel’s location – because it seems like a safe topic. 

When they arrive at the facility, Nathaniel helps his mother out of the car and into the wheelchair and wheels her into the building while Rebecca waits. While they’re inside the facility, she moves to the front seat so he doesn’t feel like her chauffeur, though she does briefly ponder ribbing him into driving her around.

“Appointments last about an hour,” he says after he returns and settles back into the driver’s seat. “What do you want to do?” 

“Maybe we can talk?” 

“Sure. About what?” he asks with genuine curiosity, like he doesn’t have a clue what they could possibly have to discuss.

“How about what happened back at the house?”

“What do you mean?”

“Really? You’re going to make me say it?”

Nathaniel lifts his eyebrows and waves the air, prompting her to go on.

“The way you acted when your mom was missing? Is that a response normal to you? The sweats? Running around like a chicken with your head cut off?”

Nathaniel scoffs. “I wasn’t – That’s so dramatic. I was a little worried. That’s all.”

“You don’t think you were triggered into a panic response?” 

At the word _triggered_ , he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Please don’t treat me like a college freshman who needs a safe space.” 

Though it’s not quite the same situation, she’s reminded of her heated discussion with Greg after Raging Waters. Greg tried to help her see how much she needed help, to get back on track with her mental health, but she was stubborn, defensive. Even though it’s something she needed to hear, the way Greg approached the conversation (and subsequently abandoned the conversation) pushed her further away. She doesn’t blame him. But she resolves that she will handle this conversation how she wishes Greg did back then with her. 

Rebecca reaches across the console and tugs his hand to hold it, forcing him to uncross his arms. At her touch he softens a bit, his expression becoming more open. He looks down at their hands and takes a few measured breaths.

“Has that happened to you before? That scary, super anxious feeling?”

“Yes,” he says softly. 

“Have you ever talked to someone about what happened with your mother? What happened when you were a kid?”

“I told _you_ ,” he says with a smile. 

“I think you know what I’m asking.”

“And I think you know the answer.”

She doesn’t need to say it; he already knows where the conversation is going. So she lets the moment breath and lets him get there on his own. 

He whispers, “It was so long ago.”

She squeezes his hand. “But clearly the wound never healed. You experienced trauma. And while it’s wonderful that your mom got help after that incident, they didn’t help you. And you were a _child_.”

Nathaniel swallows and looks out the window. 

She knows the power of her words, that he will do anything she asks. Rarely does she ever ask him outright to do things anymore, knowing the power she wields. In this case, however, she thinks it may be a worthwhile invocation. He needs help. She’s known it from the day they met. 

“I think you should talk to someone. A professional,” she says as gently as she can. 

After a prolonged silence, during which she watches him wrestle with his thoughts, he says, “I don’t even know how.”

“I can help you. I’ll help you.” 

“OK,” he whispers. “I’ll do it.”

She smiles – she can’t help it. Cupping his cheek, she says, “I’m proud of you. I love you.”

He lets out a quick, heavy breath. He leans over and gives her a kiss, then hugs her tight. After a few seconds, he chuckles and pulls away.

“What?”

“You’re so smart about this stuff,” he says, wiping under one of his eyes. 

“Am I?”

He nods. 

“And why is that funny?”

“Well,” he laughs, “when I first met you . . .”

“I was a delusional mess who thought marrying Josh Chan would magically solve all my trauma?”

He bites his lip. Yes, that is exactly what he thought. She’s sure of it.

“It took _years_ of hard, hard work to get here. You know that.”

“Now _I’m_ the mess,” he says.

“Oh no, you were a mess then too. Just better at hiding it.”

They both laugh and he nods, resting his hand on her thigh. 

She leans against the headrest and says, “You can’t hide it from me now.”

“No, no I can’t.”

He can’t and it reminds her of why she’s there in the first place. 

She takes a deep breath and says, “I think I owe you an apology.”

“Why?”

“You knew I was doubting you. That’s why you asked me to come here.” 

“I had a feeling.”

“You were forced to tell your mother about us before you were ready. I feel awful.”

“Don’t. Please.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I don’t know why I doubted you.”

“I know why,” he says without hesitation.

That response surprises her.

He explains, “After what I did to Mona, I know I don’t have the best track record. That’s putting it nicely. I knew that this could come up.”

“Still, I should have trusted you. I shouldn’t have let my bad brain get the best of me.”

“I’m not going to cheat on you, Rebecca” he says, his expression open and vulnerable. “I don’t know if hearing that helps. I can’t go back and change what I did, so all I can do is tell you how I feel.” He brushes a piece of her hair behind her ear. “This, you, mean everything to me.”

She nods, her eyes suddenly teary and with a lump in her throat.

“I want something real with you,” he says. 

“Me too.”

“I don’t want to be like my parents – the way my father treats my mother,” he goes on, his mother still clearly in the forefront of his mind.

She senses he has more to say on the subject so she waits. After witnessing his behavior at the house, more than ever she wants to encourage him to open up about his parents. It’s no surprise that his issues run deep, but it didn’t really hit her how deep until seeing him in his childhood home and seeing him interact with his mother firsthand.

“After my sabbatical, I thought things would be different with my father. I thought he would respect the terms of our arrangement, my commitment to helping at the women’s prison.”

“Wait, he’s not?”

“On paper he does. I do go to the prison every week, attend hearings. But he expects the exact same output from me with no leeway. He thinks it’s weak if I delegate to employees instead of doing the work myself. And the passive aggressive comments about my pro bono cases never end. The bottom line is he doesn’t respect it and he won’t let me forget it.”

“I’m sorry, that’s awful.”

He scrubs his hand over his face and he sighs. “I’ve been so angry at him lately. Not only about the firm, just . . . everything.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket, breaking the spell of their conversation. 

“It’s my mother. She must be done,” he says. 

As he walks back into the facility, Rebecca is filled with overwhelming affection but also concern for him. The way he is with his mother – so attentive and tender and protective – signals to her a deep capacity for love and caring she never would have guessed he possessed when they first met. But she also saw profound hurt, unhealed wounds and resentment built up over decades. It’s encouraging that he’s willing to speak more openly than ever about these feelings and it gives her hope that he will seek help and start a path to recovery. She wonders, how will that change the dynamic of their relationship? She is certainly not the same person she was when she got serious about her own mental health. 

She knew their relationship wouldn’t be easy – romantic relationships never are for her. Today isn’t the first and it won’t be the last hurdle for them to jump over. Their conversation gives her hope, however, that they have the ability to communicate and deal with issues head-on. 

When she gets back to her apartment, she turns off her phone and spends the rest of the night with her keyboard, notebook, and a glass of wine.


	4. Fight Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebecca suffers a major blow to her songwriting career. Nathaniel has a realization that's so on-the-nose.

**November 13, 2020**

Surreal is the only word that can properly describe how Nathaniel feels sitting across from Paula at this month’s open mic night. He’s sitting in the same chair at the same table with the same mediocre beer in front of the same stage where Rebecca confessed her love to him in front of all their friends. The month has gone by in the blink of an eye, yet, in his mind, that night is suspended in time forever. The images – and all the emotions forever entwined with those images – are burned into his brain, and he holds on fast to them, like they’re a dream he doesn’t want to lose once he wakes up. 

Rebecca bounces in her seat beside him as she waits to perform, clutching her red spiral notebook tightly. Tonight she finally gets to play the original song she wrote for that memorable night a month ago, before she changed course and performed _Only Us_ instead. Paula tries to keep she and Nathaniel on topic as they whisper back and forth between acts about pending pro bono cases, but Rebecca’s fidgeting is a distraction. 

Casting a pointed side eye at Rebecca before speaking, Paula asks Nathaniel in a hushed voice, “Hey, where were you on Wednesday?”

“My father scheduled a partners meeting over our time.”

“Again? When are you gonna grow some cojónes and tell your dad to cut it out? He knows Wednesdays are _our_ time at the prison. I thought he agreed to this!”

Nathaniel raises his hand to ward off further scolding. “I know. I know. I’m going to talk to him.”

Paula crosses her arms skeptically. “When?” 

“Soon.”

Anger threatens to bubble up within him at having to explain his absence yet again. When he first returned from Guatemala, his father respected their arrangement. It was only one afternoon per week, plus a hearing or trial date here and there when necessary. However, as time passed, his father seemed to conveniently forget his days at the prison and schedule meetings at inopportune times. He also noticed his workload increasing steadily since his return, making it necessary to work overtime to be able to accommodate his competing priorities. Old habits die hard, and he finds himself flirting with his workaholic tendencies again. He’s resentful, furious that his father’s influence could slowly creep back into his life so gradually that he didn’t notice until it was too late. Confrontation is not his strong suit, unfortunately, so he maintains the status quo through gritted teeth, perpetually telling himself that _next time_ he’ll stand up to his father. 

Paula says, “I hope you do, because I can’t do all this work on my –”

Suddenly Paula’s chair shifts beneath her and she grabs the table for balance. A man seated at the table behind them kicked it accidentally. He’s been a nuisance all night, though ignorable for the most part, making comments about the performers a little too loudly and getting uncomfortably close to their table. The man wears a wrinkly t-shirt and ripped jeans coupled with days-old facial hair that appears to be a result of neglect rather than intentional grooming. It’s hard to tell since they’re all seated and partially cloaked in darkness, but the man seems large and wobbles unsteadily in his seat.

“Sorry ma’am,” he mumbles.

Under her breath, Paula says, “God, I hate it when people call me _ma’am_.” 

The man scoots his chair back, away from Paula, and it makes a cringeworthy scraping sound against the flooring.

Rebecca, meanwhile, has been completely oblivious to both their conversation about his father and this man who is grating on Nathaniel’s nerves. She obsessively looks over the words in her notebook the best she can in the dim lighting and moves her fingers over her thighs, mimicking the chord progressions. It still baffles Nathaniel how her chicken scratch handwriting can magically transform on stage into beautiful music like alchemy. The entire process is a mystery to him, but he’s grateful for it since it brings her so much joy. 

Finally, it’s Rebecca’s turn. Nathaniel kisses her on the cheek and whispers, “Break a leg,” as encouragement before she bounds out of her seat and takes her place on stage. 

“I promised what’s-his-name I wouldn’t give a speech tonight,” she jokes into the microphone, referring to the open mic host, “but I do have a few things I want to say. I wrote this song for last month’s show. Obviously I got a little side-tracked –”

The man behind Nathaniel and Paula hiccups, then says, “Enough yapping, just play your stupid song.” 

Thankfully Rebecca doesn’t hear the interjection, but Nathaniel turns his head and pins the man with a venomous look. It’s the best he can muster in his WASPy, passive aggressive way.

“Oh yeah, that’ll do it,” Paula whispers sarcastically.

Rebecca continues, “The working title for this song is _The Home You Make_. I moved to West Covina four years ago and I’ve met so many people who –”

The man groans and mutters obnoxiously, “Oh my god, will this bitch ever shut up?”

Paula’s eyes widen with outrage and she immediately looks to Nathaniel, waiting to see what he will do, silently challenging him to _do something,_ or else she will _._

With a surge of adrenaline, overriding his instinct to keep his rage to himself, he says in a harsh voice, “Keep it down. We’re trying to listen.”

“That's your girl?” the man asks, his speech slurred, pointing at the stage. 

Paula rolls her eyes at the guy and has a change of heart, whispering to Nathaniel, “Forget it. The guy is drunk and she’s about to start. Not worth it.”

Nathaniel takes a deep breath and tries, he really does, to leave it. 

Rebecca, again oblivious to anything outside the protective halo of her keyboard and notebook, begins to play, a soft smile on her face. She’s already entranced, brimming with excitement for the music she’s about to bring into the world. As always, she’s beautiful in the warm haze of the stage lights. Her dress is baby blue with a white floral print and long, flowy sleeves, which gives her an aura of ethereal femininity and lightness. She curled her hair and meticulously applied her makeup, almost like she wanted to make up for last month’s show when she was rumpled and running on an hour of sleep. She begins to sing and Nathaniel automatically smiles; her happiness permeates every note of her voice, every touch of a key. 

“Well?” the man persists, poking Nathaniel hard in the bicep. “Is that your girl? Answer me?”

Paula arches her eyebrow and mouths to Nathaniel, _Ignore him_.

It’s a level of blasphemy he cannot handle, causing this amount of disruption during Rebecca’s song. Five minutes a month she performs and this asshole can’t hold his tongue for those paltry three hundred seconds. 

“Hope she fucks better than she sings,” the man says with a gruff laugh.

Nathaniel’s on his feet before he consciously makes the decision to engage. His defenses flare and he postures, puffing out his chest and tilting his chin. He doesn’t have a plan for what he will say or do, but frustration prickles hot up his spine, irrational and emotional and urgent. Most of the time he’s able to taper his anger – channel it into exercise or work or firing George – but lately he’s been more hot-headed and unable to restrain it.

“Excuse me?”

At the sudden movement, Rebecca’s eyes flicker to where he’s standing. Thankfully for him, with the bright stage lights in her face, she likely can’t discern exactly what’s happening. His best bet is to diffuse the situation before it escalates any further and avoid Rebecca ever knowing she had a heckler. Regretting the fact that he even wasted breath on this guy, Nathaniel squats to sit back down, resolved to end the conflict and let it go. That is, until the man laughs at him. A derisive, condescending laugh. It’s a laugh he’s gotten from his father more times than he can count, any time he thinks he’s gained the upper hand. It’s a laugh that says: _That’s right. Sit down. You’re embarrassing yourself. You’re a joke._

Supremely pissed at this man’s dismissal of his display of masculinity, all his composure flies out the window. Nathaniel stands back up and says, “Laugh all you want. At least I’m not some drunk, unemployed loser living in his mom’s basement whacking off to _Game of Thrones_.”

Paula pinches the bridge of her nose.

In a huff, the man stands from his own seat to full height, which is, surprisingly, several inches taller than Nathaniel. He has the height of a basketball player and the mass of a football player. In short, he’s huge.

Nathaniel swallows, and Paula says, “Ah shit.”

Before Nathaniel can mutter his own expletive, the man punches him in the face. In his intoxicated state, the man’s aim isn’t great but he connects solidly with Nathaniel’s cheek, just below his eye, and nicks his nose. 

Nathaniel drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes and Paula exclaims, “Oh my god!” in surprise.

The music stops and the whole room comes to a standstill. 

The next minute is a blur. A slew of people gather around him, gawking, and Paula quickly kneels at his side to take stock of the damage. He doesn’t think anything is broken – once he broke his nose while playing water polo in college, so he knows what that feels like – but there’s no way he’s surviving the night without a nasty black eye.

On stage, Rebecca squints at the darkness, her brow furrowed. 

Paula’s voice cuts through the silence and reaches Rebecca’s ears as she tends to Nathaniel, saying, “You’re alright, buddy. Let’s get you up and out of here.” 

Rebecca abandons her keyboard and rushes off the stage. “Nathaniel!” she yells when she sees him flat on his back, his hand covering his eye. She drops to her knees and grabs his bicep. “What’s happened?!” 

The host of the open mic approaches the trio, exasperated. “What is going on here?”

The man who punched Nathaniel says innocently, “This guy picked a fight with me out of nowhere!”

“What?!” Rebecca exclaims. “Obviously this guy is lying.”

“Jesus Christ,” the host mutters, more annoyed than anything else. “You have been nothing but trouble for me since you started performing here,” he says to Rebecca.

“What?”

“The long speeches and grand gestures. You know there are other people who want their turns too. These nights aren’t all about you and your love life.”

Rebecca’s mouth gapes open, speechless, without any rebuttal for his criticism. 

“You, you, and you,” the host says, pointing respectively to Rebecca, Nathaniel, and the man who punched him. “All three of you. You’re banned.”

Rebecca leaps to her feet. “What? No!”

“Please leave. Don’t make me call security.”

Rebecca grabs his forearm and pleads, “No, please, you can’t do this. You don’t understand. I need this. Please, um, sir –”

“You still don’t even know my name, do you?”

“OK, no, I don’t know your name. But we’ve got a certain rapport, right? A back-and-forth. Adds some spice to these nights. Am I right?”

“No.”

“Let me just speak to the owner. Please. I’m sure I can work something out with them.”

“ _I_ am the owner. I’m Mike.”

With a frown, he points to the neon yellow sign behind him that reads: _Open Mike’s_.

“Oooh,” both Rebecca and Paula vocalize in perfect octaves.

Paula, still kneeling beside Nathaniel, says, “I thought it was another case of ambiguous punctuation.”

Exasperated, he says, “It’s a pun. Double meaning. Actually, triple meaning since we’re the only bar in West Covina open past midnight. Weird town. Anyway, enough with the semantics. You’re done here. Get out.”

As the reality of the situation sets in, Rebecca starts to hyperventilate. “Oh. Oh no. Oh god.” 

“Yeah. So please scrape your boyfriend off the floor and get out of here,” he says with finality.

Paula wraps her hands around Nathaniel’s arm, and helps him sit up. He waves off Paula’s help with an, “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

As he’s slowly getting up off the ground, Rebecca lets out a sad, frustrated, high-pitched whine at Mike’s back as he stalks back toward the stage. “No, no, no,” she whispers to herself, her hands covering her face.

Nathaniel gingerly touches his face and finds it fully intact, though the swelling has already started and the pain is no joke. Not to mention the inevitable bruising to come. 

He gently touches Rebecca’s shoulder and says, “Let’s just get out of here. Come on.”

Rebecca shrugs off his touch and her expression changes from sadness to anger. The burning flash of hurt in her eyes is unmistakable and she brushes past him and out the door like he’s a stranger, an inconvenience in her way, rather than her boyfriend, the person she is supposed to love.

Paula grimaces at Rebecca’s reaction and gives Nathaniel a worried look. There’s a storm coming.

After he gathers his bearings, finding his feet again after getting the wind knocked out of him, they exit out the same door into the parking lot. The lot is quiet. It’s dark save for the sparse street lights overhead. Rebecca is leaning against his car, her arms crossed, her eyes shooting daggers.

As he and Paula approach her, she spits out, “How could you do this?”

“I didn’t –”

“What are you doing fighting with some random guy while I’m singing?”

“ _He_ punched me.”

“Oh, a guy just punched you in the face for no reason? What did you say? What did you do?”

Paula cuts in, stepping forward, “Sweetie, I saw the whole thing. The guy was a heckler, a drunk idiot being a jerk. Nathaniel was trying to stop him.”

“A heckler? Why would he be heckling me? What did he say?”

Paula and Nathaniel exchange wary glances. There is no universe in which he tells Rebecca the rude things the man said.

“What is that look?” Rebecca says, the anger in her voice rising, tears starting to form in her eyes. “I saw that look. What are you two hiding from me?!”

“Nothing,” Nathaniel says with trepidation. “What Paula said is true. This guy was being rude while you were singing and I intervened.”

Rebecca hugs her arms even tighter across her chest. She shakes her head. “No. You’re lying. You’re both lying to me. You want me to quit singing, don’t you? You just want me to shut up and give up and go back to being a lawyer.”

Nathaniel’s not even sure who she’s accusing, but one thing is abundantly clear – she’s so distraught she’s no longer thinking rationally. 

She goes on, “Or maybe you slept with that guy’s girlfriend and he found out. That explanation seems more up your alley.”

“What?” he says, reflexively. “That – that doesn’t even make sense.

Dropping that line of questioning, she uncrosses her arms and shouts, “Nathaniel, you should know how much this means to me! It may not seem important to you, performing here, but it means something to me! How could you do this to me?!”

He snaps his mouth shut. Of course this is the real reason why she’s mad. The rest of it – the blaming, the paranoia – are symptoms of her true hurt. It’s the fear of losing this piece of her identity. Writing and performing music is not just a fun, whimsical hobby for her. And this place is so much more than a space for her to perform. It’s where she shared her musical voice with the world for the first time. It’s where she proclaimed her love for him, where she opened her heart. It all hits him then – the gravity of the loss and the betrayal she must feel, whether intended or not.

When he doesn’t respond to her frantic accusations, words come tumbling out of her mouth like a speeding train with its brakes cut. “I thought you knew me but maybe you don’t. God, what was I thinking dating you? That you took a long rich-person vacation to Central America and it turned you into a virtuous, evolved person? Maybe I was right all along. You are a sociopath, a narcissist, and a _cheater_. You only care about yourself. You never stop to think about how your actions affect others.”

“Rebecca,” he says, softly, simply.

When she lashes out like this, he wonders whether she’s grasping at straws, throwing out any barb she can conjure that will hurt the other person most, or verbalizing her true, innermost thoughts. And he wonders which of those truths would be easier to stomach.

Paula raises both her hands and steps forward. “We aren’t lying about anything. I swear. All of this was a misunderstanding. Cookie, take a deep breath. We’re on your side.”

Something in Paula’s soothing voice and her motherly demeanor finally reaches her, cuts through the fog, and Rebecca’s face crumbles, her shoulders slump. Uncrossing her arms, she finally articulates her true fear, her voice breaking, “I need this, Paula. I don’t know what I have or who I am if I don’t have this in my life. 

Paula swoops in and wraps her arms around Rebecca. “It’s going to be OK,” Paula says, hugging her, rubbing her back in wide circles. “We will figure something out. I promise.”

Rebecca exhales and looks up at Nathaniel over Paula’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. His face is starting to throb, not only from the injury, but from the onset of a pounding headache.

Paula gives her a final squeeze and pulls away. “Why don’t the two of you go home and put a bag of frozen peas on that shiner,” she suggests with a hint of mirth in her voice, trying to alleviate the tension. “He took a blow to the face for you. Kind of romantic, right?”

Rebecca nods silently and offers Paula a faint smile, but her jaw is still tense, not quite ready to let him off the hook. As Rebecca gets in the passenger side of his car, over the roof he catches Paula’s eye and she mouths, _Just **talk** to her_. 

The car ride is beyond tense. Squinting with one eye, he drives as quickly as he can, wanting to get back to his apartment before his eye is completely swollen shut. Rebecca is silent, brooding, staring out the window. 

As they near his apartment, she says quietly, “Just drop me off at home.”

“Your car is parked at my place.”

“I don’t care.”

He sighs. “Rebecca. Please. Just come up for a little bit. Talk to me.”

She exhales sharply through her nose and stubbornly says nothing as he parks in the car in the underground garage. She’s parked in a visitor’s space a few rows away and, for a tense moment, they stare at each other outside his car, her posture threatening to walk away. It’s a silent standoff, each waiting for the other to break. 

Despite wanting to talk things out with her, his physical needs – to lie down, take a painkiller, and put something cold and soothing on his eye – start to supersede his emotional needs more and more with each passing second. He’s exhausted in every sense of the word.

Finally, he says, “Fine. You win. Leave. All I did was stand up for you. I didn’t know he was looking for a fight. I’m sorry we got kicked out. I’m sorry for what happened. I truly am. But directing all your anger at me is not going to solve anything or undo it. I’m not going to beg you to stay. I’m not playing this game with you.”

Her stunned expression tells him all he needs to know. She didn’t expect him to stand up for himself, to challenge her, to call out her behavior.

He nods in his conversation-ending way and turns on his heels, prepared to walk away and accept whatever consequences result from that decision. As he slowly walks away, toward the elevator, he carefully touches his cheek. The swelling is worse, progressing at an alarming rate. His mind races a few days into the future. How can he go to the office on Monday looking like this? Go to court? What if his father hears about this? Things are already tense, between their power struggle over his pro bono work and his dismay at his father’s treatment of his mother. His resentment has been building. In a moment of clarity, he realizes that this simmering anger he’s been carrying around is probably what made him engage with this idiot in the first place, which is something he normally would never do.

As soon as his finger connects with the elevator call button, Rebecca is yelling, running toward him. “Nathaniel. Nathaniel! Stop! Please!” 

Her face is wrecked, scared. 

“What?” he asks and the elevator dings on its arrival. 

“I’ll come up,” she says softly. 

Nathaniel immediately goes to the freezer when they get inside his apartment. With how much he exercises, he keeps an ice pack in the freezer in case of injury or sprain. He pays little mind to Rebecca, the way she’s wringing her fingers and worrying over his reaction in the garage. He collapses onto the couch and holds the pack to his eye, wincing at the contact. 

“Um, are you . . . You’re mad at me,” she says in a meek voice, standing awkwardly in the middle of his living room.

“Are _you_ mad at _me_? It certainly seemed like you were.” He tips his head over the back of the couch, shifting to find the best placement of the ice pack.

“I’m not mad at you,” she says quietly and perches at the end of the couch, at the farthest point away from him.

“Listen, I understand why you’re upset. I get it. But the verbal attacks, the threatening our relationship –”

She interrupts him, “I know. You’re right. That was wrong. Horrible of me. I’m sorry.”

He lifts his head to read her body language. She’s looking down at her hands, contrite.

“Did you mean it? What you said? Do you think I’m a narcissistic sociopath with no conscience?”

“No,” she says softly, “of course not.”

He believes her because what choice does he have?

She says, “I know it’s probably hard to understand me sometimes. The things I do. Can you forgive me?”

“Yes, but I want you to promise to never do anything like that again.”

She takes a deep breath and her eyes go fuzzy as she gives his question serious consideration.

“No,” she finally says after a pregnant pause.

“No?”

“Remember we pinky swore to a fresh start for our relationship? That we would be honest with each other no matter what?”

Of course he remembers – her tiny pinky wrapped around his as they faced each other in his bed. Then, in that moment of post-coital contented bliss, he wasn’t thinking about how challenging their relationship could be. He wasn’t thinking about how they could have days like these where their future was uncertain. When he made the promise, all he was thinking about is how she loved him, finally, and that’s all he needed to be happy. 

“Yes.”

“One thing I’ve learned from therapy, in dealing with my disorder, is not to make a promise I can’t keep. And what happened earlier, that’s a thing that happens with my disorder. I’m not proud of it. I never _mean_ to do it. But it happens. I’m not excusing the behavior, but, if I’m being completely honest, I can’t promise it will never happen again. I’m sorry.”

He’s not entirely happy with her answer, but he sees now how his request was an impossible one. This is what radical honesty looks like. 

“Splitting.” His brain supplies him with the word before he even realizes he’s said it out loud.

“Yes,” she says, surprised. “How do you know about that?”

With a chuckle he says, “You really think I didn’t stay up all night researching after you told me about your BPD?”

She winces slightly and he can read her mind. It’s a scary Googling experience, one that could easily scare off a potential romantic interest. 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

She smiles.

He continues, “I can move past this if you can forgive me for getting you kicked out of _Open Mike’s_. I _do_ know how much that means to you. I’m sorry.”

Without saying a word, she nods and then wraps her arms around his shoulders. Lowering the ice pack from his face, he hugs her back tightly. 

“Love you,” she says next to his ear, the words muffled by his shirt. 

“You too.”

When she pulls away, she gasps at his face. “Oh my god,” she says, trying not to laugh. She smooths her thumb over his cheek, just below the injury. 

He catches her hand and kisses the inside of her palm. 

“What the hell happened?” she asks. “Since when do you get your own hands dirty? Don’t you have George for that?”

He rests the ice pack back on his eye. “At the time, I thought I was defending your honor,” he says earnestly, “which I realize sounds ridiculous. I shouldn’t have even engaged with him. It was stupid.” 

She’s listening with curiosity, truly listening, while holding his hand, and he realizes it’s time for his own radical honesty.

Quietly he adds, “I think I’ve been angry.”

“Angry? At me?”

“No, no. At my father.”

“Your father?” she asks, her brow furrowing. He can’t blame her for not instantly understanding the connection between his father and getting into a fist fight.

“I think the anger and resentment has been building. He made me miss my day at the prison this week and I just . . . I lost it. I didn’t even realize it was affecting me so much until, well, I got punched in the face.”

“So on-the-nose,” she says, giggling.

“Indeed,” he agrees, pulling the ice pack away to reveal his bruised nose and eye. 

She shifts so her legs are tucked underneath her and bites her lip, like she’s gearing up to say something difficult. He waits for her to speak, bracing himself.

“Have you called?”

He says nothing, intuiting that she must know the answer already. He swallows and stares down at their interlaced fingers.

“She comes very highly recommended by Dr. Akopian.”

“I’ll call.” He says the words, but he can tell by the look at her face that it’s not convincing.

Letting him off the hook, she says lightly, “That black eye should be a good reminder to do it, I guess.”

She untangles their fingers and gets up from the couch, disappearing into his bathroom. He wonders if he’s let her down by not following through on calling the therapist. All the work she’s done over the past few years and he can’t even make one simple phone call, book one appointment. 

She returns with a bottle of painkillers and fiddles with the childproof mechanism on the lid. Once she finally breaks into it, she gives him two pills. She’s trying to drop the whole subject, he can tell. The way she doesn’t meet his eyes and is distracting herself with this task – she’s giving him an out.

After he swallows the pills and she sets the bottle aside, he hooks a finger under her chin and gently raises it until she meets his eyes.

“I’ll call,” he says with more insistence this time. “Monday. As soon as the office opens, I will call. OK?”

She nods and leans forward, pecking him on the lips. “Let’s get you into bed,” she whispers. He’s never heard more beautiful words.

She leads him by the hand to the bedroom and he stops in front of the mirror to groan at his haggard reflection. There’s a concerning smear of yellows and purples forming below his eye.

Rebecca wraps her arms around his waist from behind and squeezes. Gently tugging him away from the mirror, she says, “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you how to use concealer. No one will notice a thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Elle, as always. Thanks for debating 'jacking off' vs 'whacking off' and Game of Thrones vs Lord of the Rings. Thanks for having better ideas about my stories than I do. These conversations always keep things interesting.
> 
> Thanks to Kayleigh for the heart art!
> 
> Love is reading. Love is commenting! One sentence, even one word, even an incoherent keyboard smash means the world to me!
> 
> Contact Me <3  
> Email: heartbashfic@gmail.com  
> Tumblr: heartbash


	5. My Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paula is a hero.

** Part Six: I’m Just a Girl in Love (Reprise)  **

**December 4, 2020**

“All I’m saying is that you all wouldn’t be getting this award if it wasn’t for me,” Rebecca reminds Paula and Nathaniel as they walk side-by-side into West Covina’s historical center. 

Paula is sparkling, grinning from ear to ear in an emerald green dress, her hair swept up in a glittery barrette, her hand wrapped around Scott’s elbow. He’s dressed up as well in a tux with a red, paisley print jacket, no doubt a leftover from a West Brovinas holiday performance. On anyone else, such an outfit would seem garish and tacky, yet Scott manages to pull it off with his natural charm and endearing admiration of Paula. 

She and Nathaniel are accepting a _Heroes of West Covina_ award, an annual award that recognizes local citizens who are making a difference in the community through charitable works or acts of bravery. The honor is heralded by an awards ceremony at the historical center, which is the only venue within the city limits of West Covina that can comfortably accommodate such an event. The location is not fancy by any means, but the mayor’s office dressed it up in twinkling lights, garland, red bows, and other festive decor for the occasion. 

To no one’s surprise, Nathaniel is wearing a classic black tux with no frills, not a hint of holiday festivity.

“I will grant you that,” Paula says to Rebecca, “and we are honoring you, in turn, by bringing you as one of our esteemed guests.”

“Oh, so it’s not because I’m banging one of the honorees?” Rebecca quips. “Isn’t that how you got here, Scott?”

Paula squeezes Scott’s arm. “Scott is being honored for picking up the slack at home so I have time to bring these women justice.”

“You know what they say,” Scott says, smiling broadly at Paula. “Behind every badass lady there’s a guy burning the chicken at home.”

Paula and Nathaniel each received two guest tickets to the event. Of course, Scott and Rebecca were invited as each of their respective dates. Paula gave her second ticket to Julia from _Eastbriar_ , the senior partner who supported her creation of the pro bono arm of the firm. Nathaniel gave his extra ticket to his father, in theory, for similar reasons. 

It’s no secret that, despite Nathaniel’s best efforts, he still longs for his father’s approval. Despite his sheltered, toxic childhood, despite all the ongoing emotional abuse and manipulation, despite it all, Nathaniel continues to reach for his father. When Nathaniel told Rebecca about the extra ticket, she insisted he invite his mother instead. In her mind’s eye, she could picture his mother here – supportive and proud and comfortable at such a fancy event. Yet, Nathaniel was adamant about inviting his father. 

Though she dare not say it, Rebecca knows that no matter how his father behaves tonight, he will find a way to let Nathaniel down. She mentally prepared herself to deal with his father well in advance. Her plan is to lay on the parental charm, use effusive flattery, and, when necessary, create conversational diversions into pre-planned topics that are safe and non-confrontational. She even dressed more modestly than she normally would for such an occasion, in a sapphire-blue dress with a high neckline, like a demure yet sexy senator’s wife. Her hair is in a classic french twist with a few loose, wavy tendrils framing her face. With all these preparations, she hopes there is no way his father could find anything to criticize to take the attention away from his son’s accomplishments. She hopes to impress him with her poise, elegance, and love for his son. Maybe the evening can even bring them closer together. 

Inside, the venue is arranged like a wedding, with tables covered in white tablecloths and a dance floor in the center. The tabletop floral arrangements are holiday-themed – lush greenery with holly. The high ceiling has a chandelier that has been draped with twinkling lights strung from each corner of the room. At the top of the dance floor, there is an elevated stage with a podium and a long table with the plaques to be presented to the recipients. Seeing the stage and microphone gives Rebecca a tiny jolt of adrenaline. She helped both Paula and Nathaniel write their acceptance speeches and she’s brimming with excitement by proxy. 

They find their designated table empty – Julia and Nathaniel Sr. haven’t arrived yet – and it gives them the feverish energy of a group of unsupervised kids on a field trip. Paula giggles and immediately reaches for one of the bottles of wine in the center of the table. 

“Scott and I haven’t been out like this in so long,” she says with glee as she pours each of them a glass.

“The last time we had a fancy date, Obama was president,” Scott says. Then, to Rebecca and Nathaniel, he adds, “Be sure to live it up before you get married. Because before you know it you’ve got two kids and demanding jobs and it’s a miracle to get a night out like this.”

Nathaniel’s eyes widen at the mention of kids and Rebecca’s stomach drops. Even though she presumes they are on the same page – that they want to be together for a long time – hearing a third party verbally acknowledge the assumption is new and jarring. And, kids? They’ve never even broached the topic of marriage, let alone having children. Presumptions abound.

Paula elbows Scott. “Scott! Stop, they’ve been dating for like five minutes. Let them date before you start giving them kids. Jesus.” 

Rebecca clears her throat, signaling an abrupt, desperately needed change of topic. “I would like to give a toast before the grownups get here,” she says, raising her glass. “To Paula and Nathaniel, two of the most important people in my life. You’re making a difference in the world and I couldn’t be more proud. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that I did receive a key to the city –”

“You’ve only mentioned it a couple dozen times,” Nathaniel interjects.

“– but I guess there’s room for more than one local hero in this group. Cheers.”

“Cheers!” Scott exclaims and they all clink their glasses together.

After they take their first sips, Nathaniel drapes his arm over the back of Rebecca’s chair and teases, “The word _hero_ really does suit me doesn’t it? You can say it. I’m a hero.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes. Out of her periphery she spots White Josh with a tall, dark, handsome date walking toward them. 

“Is that . . . what is he doing here?” she asks, incredulous. “Did you invite him?”

“No, he’s being honored.”

“Hello, fellow heroes,” White Josh says, placing both his hands on Nathaniel’s shoulders and playfully pushing him. 

“Why are _you_ getting an award? Are they giving these hero awards to anyone walking down East Cameron?” Rebecca asks.

“No,” White Josh says, annoyed, “it’s for my work with _Habitat_.”

“ _Habitat for Humanity_? Building houses for poor people? Since when are you doing that?”

“Uh, I’ve been doing it for years now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Where have you been?”

She takes a heavy sip of wine and mutters, “Good for you, I guess.”

Taking the high ground, White Josh ignores her dismissal and says, “Everyone enjoy your evening. Vic and I will see you out on the dance floor later.”

“Who’s Vic?” Rebecca asks as he walks away.

At that moment, Julia approaches the table, looking as tall and elegant as ever in a pale yellow gown. Everyone at the table stands to greet her, and Paula introduces her to the rest of the table. 

As they all settle in their seats, Julia says, “It’s such a pleasure to meet you all. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“It’s wonderful what _Eastbriar_ is doing,” Rebecca says politely to break the ice. 

“I appreciate that, but it was truly all Paula’s doing,” Julia says, nodding at Paula. “Honestly, it was a bit of a gamble, spending our time and money on a venture that doesn’t earn the firm money. But, in retrospect, Paula brought in such a fresh perspective and energy to the firm, I’m glad we took the chance. And, selfishly, publicity like this certainly can’t hurt, right? Now _Eastbriar_ and _MountainTop_ are known as the firms that care about the community.”

Julia’s gushing praise for Paula only reminds Rebecca of how unsupportive Nathaniel’s father has been and his empty seat at the table punctuates that point. She wishes Nathaniel Sr. were part of this conversation so he could hear how he _should_ be commending his own son for his accomplishments. Does he even realize how much his efforts are bolstering _MountainTop_ ’s reputation? She can’t imagine he’s ever acknowledged or thanked Nathaniel for it. 

The lights dim signalling that the presentation is about to start and Nathaniel stares at the seat with Nathaniel Sr.’s name card. That son-of-a-bitch is going to be late, Rebecca thinks, furious for Nathaniel. She mentally starts plotting how she can subtly shame him when he finally arrives. 

Rebecca recognizes the first speaker – the mayor – from when she received the key to the city years ago. With an air of formality, he kicks off the ceremonies. There are five recipients each year, she learns. The first is a woman retiring from a twenty-five year career at a skilled nursing facility who is beloved by all her patients. The second is a woman who saved the life of a child at a local playground by performing CPR until the EMTs arrived. The third award is presented to White Josh and his fellow volunteers. As the presentation progresses, Rebecca realizes that Nathaniel and Paula may be the grand finale of the event – the last to be announced. 

The fourth award goes to a woman who opened a food bank. It’s during her acceptance speech that Rebecca realizes Nathaniel Sr. still hasn’t shown his face. He’s going to miss it. That fucking asshole is going to miss the entire thing. Under the table, Rebecca reaches for Nathaniel’s hand and squeezes. His face is drawn and she smiles, offering up her silent support. He returns her smile, but it’s weak and dejected.

When it’s finally time for their award, Rebecca’s stomach does a little flip flop. 

The mayor says, “These last recipients are two of West Covina’s finest. These citizens, two local lawyers, have offered up their services, free legal counsel, at the women’s county jail. They not only provide legal advice, but actually represent these women in court – all pro bono. Over the past two years, they have helped reduce sentences for women with non-violent crimes and even helped free women who were wrongly accused. We commend these two for providing help for some of our most vulnerable citizens. Please join me in congratulating our final recipients of the _Heroes of West Covina_ award, Paula Proctor from the firm _Eastbriar_ and Nathaniel Plimpton from _MountainTop_.”

The banquet hall erupts in applause, Rebecca throwing in some celebratory shouts for good measure. Both Paula and Nathaniel are holding index cards with short prepared speeches on them. (Two minute maximum, they were advised.) As they walk up on stage and near the podium, Nathaniel gently touches Paula’s arm and whispers something into her ear. Paula looks confused for a moment and then nods, acknowledging what he’s said. 

Paula and Nathaniel shake the mayor’s hand, then Paula steps up to the podium.

“Hello, my name is Paula Proctor, and I am going to speak on behalf of myself and my fellow recipient,” she says, then pauses.

She gives Nathaniel a backward glance that says _Are you sure?_ He gestures that the floor is completely hers.

“About two years ago, when Nathaniel and I worked together at _MountainTop_ , our friend and former legal associate, Rebecca Bunch, started giving free legal advice at the women’s county prison. It started small. Nathaniel and I filled in for her once when she went out-of-town for a family emergency. But it quickly turned into the three of us alternating days at the jail, offering an ear and our best understanding of the law. Some of these women simply couldn’t afford good legal representation at the time of conviction, some were pressured to give false confessions, some saw jail as their only way out of a dangerous situation, some simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Our legal system isn’t perfect – not by any stretch – and we see it as our civic duty to understand the systemic issues at play in these cases and help these women any way we can.”

Rebecca is filled with such pride at Paula’s speech that she begins to tear up. At that moment, Paula looks up from her index cards toward Rebecca, almost like she telepathically felt her support. At her first open mic performance, Paula told her, “If you get nervous, you look at me.” She’s done just that many times before while up on stage and she’s happy to finally be able to return the favor. 

With a teary smile, she finishes up her speech. “Um, we would like to thank Julia Umar, senior partner at _Eastbriar_ , who has continually supported our efforts and helped create the pro bono arm of the firm. And we would also like to thank Nathaniel Plimpton, Sr., senior partner at _MountainTop_ . . . as well. Thank you to the mayor for recognizing us and to all of West Covina. Thank you.”

Rebecca is immediately on her feet clapping as soon as Paula finishes. As the whole room joins in and applauds, the mayor hands each of them a plaque and they take a quick photo together before returning to their seats. 

When he sits back down next to her, she doesn’t miss how his eyes dart immediately to Nathaniel Sr.’s seat. He missed it. He missed it all.

Servers start to weave through the tables, offering drinks from the open bar, and music begins to play from a DJ booth in the corner. They skimped on a formal dinner – they save those funds for politically important people and campaign dinners, Rebecca assumes. But still, they’re grateful for the free booze and Paula in particular is thrilled to have the night out with Scott with no responsibilities. She’s such a workhorse, so committed to her job and her pro bono work that a date night is usually an afterthought. 

Paula grabs Scott by the hand almost immediately, and they are the first out dancing. 

Once they are out of earshot, Rebecca says, “I’m sorry your dad didn’t make it.”

“Me too,” he says as he stares at the stem of his wine glass. “Maybe it was stupid of me to think he would come. I mean, look around. He wouldn’t be caught dead at a place like this.”

“It’s not stupid,” she says, grabbing his hand. “Sure, this place is quaint and a little whimsical, but that’s the charm of West Covina. And if he can’t appreciate that, then it’s his loss. What you’ve done is amazing. _You_ are amazing. And everyone here sees that. I am so proud of you both.”

Nathaniel’s eyes flit away, trying to keep his emotions at bay. He always acts like this when she says she’s proud of him – uncomfortable, queasy, about to crawl out of his own skin. It’s the same reaction he has when she talks about their relationship in the future tense. He seems unable to accept these reassurances without mentally wincing. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

“I thought he would at least –” Rebecca starts, but then stops, thinking better of it.

“I thought so too.”

The disappointment written all over his face breaks her heart in two. Her own father is an abandoning piece of garbage, but his total disappearance is much better than this form of emotional abuse. She got a taste of it at her wedding – a father who is half-in, half-out of the relationship, showing up when it suits him. That ordeal was so much worse than no contact at all.

Hoping to lift his mood, she asks, “Shall we dance?” with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows.

That does garner a smile, so she calls it a win. He rises from his chair and offers his hand to her, and he’s never looked more dapper, more handsome.

On the dance floor, he settles his hand on the small of her back and she fits naturally in his arms, putting her hand delicately in his. The music selection is a pleasing mix of old standards and it segues into Ella Fitzgerald’s rendition of _Dream a Little Dream of Me_. 

“You look pretty tonight,” he says as his thumb rubs circles over her back, “though, a little more conservative than I was expecting.” 

“Oh, that was intentional,” she says with a laugh. “I thought I was going to have an audience to impress.”

He frowns. Not minutes later and she’s brought up his father again, adding insult to injury. 

Fumbling for words, she says, “I just . . . I dressed like this because I wanted him to approve of me. I didn’t want to be another thing he could criticize, I guess. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring him up again.”

He sighs and says, “No, it’s OK. I’m fine. And you don’t need his approval. I can’t control what he does or what he thinks. I can only control my reaction to it.”

To her, these sound like the words of a therapist, so she gives herself a mental pat on the back. He’s trying. He’s talking, at least, about his father with his therapist and that’s a start. They are baby steps in the right direction, and she’s even more proud of him for taking those first steps – the hardest steps – on his journey to healing.

“Plus,” he continues in a low, breathy voice, “if my father was here, I couldn’t do this –”

Nathaniel tugs her close and kisses her. The open display of affection takes her by surprise. Her eyes fly open and she stiffens. When they’re in public like this, sometimes she still freezes up. That instinct, cultivated from almost a year of loving him only in secret, is one she has to consciously override. She thought her public declaration of love would rid her of those compulsions, like her own version of exposure therapy. Even so, there are still moments when her palms get sweaty and her heart races and she can’t help but look around and see who’s watching. Nathaniel doesn’t seem to suffer from the same affliction

He senses her hesitation – how could he not? – and he pulls back, his clear blue eyes frantically searching hers.

“What?” he whispers, tucking her hair behind her ear.

She silently reminds herself this is _them, now_ – there’s nothing wrong or sordid about it.

She grabs at the back of his neck and crashes her lips against his. He releases her hand and wraps both his hands around her lower back and tightens his hold on her. Secure in his grip, he tips her back slightly into a mini-dip. She runs her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck and sighs, surrendering to the kiss. True, this is probably not an appropriate place for a makeout session, but she doesn’t care anymore. Propriety be damned; let the whole world know she loves this man. None of this would be happening if Nathaniel Sr. bothered to show up, but she doesn’t hold that against Nathaniel. 

When he releases her, he’s breathless and gives her a lopsided, mischievous grin.

“Wow,” she gasps, “I guess I’m glad that old bag of bones didn’t show up.”

He chuckles and gives her a follow-up peck, resuming the traditional slow dance position.

“For the millionth time, give it a rest, you horny monsters!” White Josh calls out, exasperated, from a few feet away where he’s dancing with Vic.

“Yeah, get a room!” Scott says with mock indignation, garnering a full-bodied laugh from Paula who is blissfully tipsy. 

They both laugh, slightly embarrassed at how they got carried away in the moment. Maybe they do need to maintain a baseline amount of propriety until they get home.

“God, she’s so happy,” Rebecca says as she watches Paula and Scott dance. “I’m so happy for her. She’s at the law firm of her dreams – no offense – and she’s helping people, making a difference in the world. This is what she always wanted.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, also observing Paula dancing with abandon, making dopey, emoji heart eyes at Scott. “And I’m sure it doesn’t need to be said that you’re right – neither of us would be here tonight if it wasn’t for you.”

“Oh, you can say it,” she replies with a teasing twinkle in her eye. 

“You’re the one who started all this,” he says, “so thank you.”

“Maybe I should start volunteering again. I mean, now that I’m not writing or performing anymore I have a bunch of free time on my hands.”

“What do you mean not writing anymore?” he asks, slowing to almost a standstill.

The alcohol has loosened her up and she’s given away more than she wanted. Since the incident at _Open Mike’s_ , she hasn’t sat down at the keyboard. Period. She’s skipped piano lessons, thrown her notebook in the corner of her bedroom. Every time she thinks about writing, the memory of that night, of getting kicked out, floods her memories, filling her with anxiety. The thought of never being up on that stage again zaps any motivation to write at all. 

“Rebecca, no,” he says softly. “You need to keep writing. Why aren’t you writing?”

She looks away, gripped by sadness. “What’s the point?” she says, her voice quivering. “If I’m not performing, then what’s the point of any of it?”

“Hey, we can find another place for you to perform. That’s easy.”

As he utters the words, her brain vehemently opposes it, though she knows he has the best of intentions. Finding another place to perform feels like a betrayal. She created so many cherished memories there. How could she perform anywhere else? She’s not ready to move on yet.

“You could perform for me. Or your girl squad. You could have an in-home concert. You could use my rooftop.” Immediately realizing his error in judgment, he adds, “Not my rooftop, sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

“No, I – I get it. Can we just . . . can we talk about this later? This night is about you, not me.”

He nods with noticeable reluctance and drops the subject. 

The music slows into _I’ve Got You Under My Skin_ and they transition into a gentle sway. Rebecca steps in closer as they slow dance and rests her head against his chest. His chin brushes the top of her head. 

“Is this our song?” he whispers.

“Hmmm . . . maybe.”

“Valencia’s wedding,” he reminds her.

She chuckles. As if she could forget when he sang to her on the steps. How could she forget when she thought he might kiss her and her heart hammered so hard she thought she might faint.

“I know,” she says. 

“Funny what Scott said,” he said hesitantly, softly, “about us getting married.”

Her stomach churns and she keeps her head safely on his chest, over his heart, not quite prepared to face him. Is he making casual conversation? Does he think it’s truly funny? Ha-ha funny? Or, does he seriously consider marriage a possibility? He has a huge engagement ring locked in the safe in his apartment, which she certainly hasn’t forgotten. Now that they’re dating, in fact, she thinks about it often. But she’s not ready to talk about it openly quite yet. The thought of a wedding still triggers a significant amount of anxiety, regardless of the fact that their relationship is nothing like the one she had with Josh.

“Yeah, funny,” is all she says, tucking her forehead into the crook of his neck. 

Paula and Scott are looking into each other’s eyes, whispering something secret. She _does_ want what they have. Maybe not the kids part – she’s not sure yet – but she admires their commitment to each other, how they’ve overcome obstacles and put in the work to make their marriage work. They’re not perfect and they make mistakes, but they love each other fiercely and are dedicated to their relationship.

_Love is a choice_ , Paula told her when she reconciled with Scott, after his infidelity. At the time, she didn’t quite understand what she meant. All the times Rebecca had fallen in love, fallen hard, it never felt like she had much of a choice in the matter. Love was always something that seemed to happen _to_ her. _Falling in love_ is an apt way of putting it, because love always felt like a free fall – unpredictable and out-of-control. 

As Nathaniel hums the song to her, his throat vibrating against her hair with the music, she thinks she finally understands what Paula meant. When Rebecca asked Nathaniel to be friends, she made a choice. Each time she invited him over to her apartment or invited him out, or when she asked him to be her date to Valencia’s wedding, she made a choice. When she kissed him at the Sugar Face lot, she made a choice. When she sang on stage to him and let him into her heart, she made a choice. All of these were choices she made consciously, with open eyes, knowing the potential consequences. 

Every day, now, she makes the choice to love him and that’s wildly different from any love she’s had before. The thought fills her with joy, a new understanding clicking satisfyingly into place.

She lifts her head then, unafraid. Palming his jaw, she says, “I love you, you know that?”

He kisses her, hard and unabashed, the way she wanted to be kissed on the steps all those months ago.

_We’re unstoppable_ , she thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really cannot say enough kind words about my beta, Elle. She's a great sounding board, fucking HILARIOUS, and she's there as a great friend as well. Can this pandemic be over so we can meet in person again?


	6. Respect Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the first night of Hanukkah approaches, Rebecca and Nathaniel navigate the boundaries of their newly romantic relationship and an unexpected guest interrupts the festivities.

**December 11, 2020**

Blissed out, slightly loopy, arm draped above her head – there’s nothing Nathaniel loves more than a post-coital Rebecca. Her whole body hums with contentment and she sighs, sated, with a luminous glow about her. He could lie beside her like this for hours, stretched out like a cat, watching the deep rise and fall of her chest. It’s the only idle time he doesn’t consider wasted. 

In the haze of the afterglow, he thinks it’s as good a time as any to give her her gift. He leans over the edge of her bed and grabs his discarded pants from the floor, fishing through his pockets for the black, velvet box.

After he finds it, he places it cheekily between her breasts and looks innocently up at her, resting his chin on the crease of her elbow.

“What’s this?” she asks, still breathy.

“Happy Hanukkah.”

Her eyebrows raise and her jaw drops a little, her expression a mix of impressed and surprised by the effort.

He goes on, “I don’t know much about the whole Hanukkah thing or what the protocol is for gifts, but I do know it starts tonight, so I got you this.” 

“But I didn’t get you anything.”

“Sure, you did. You gave me the only thing I wanted this morning,” he says, raising his head a touch and winking. 

She giggles and lightly smacks his arm. 

“Open it,” he says, nodding at the box.

She does and inside are two sets of stud earrings: one, a stunning sapphire and the other tiny diamonds.

“Gasp!” she gasps. “Oh my god, these are stunning.”

“I noticed you did this while I was gone,” he says, taking her ear lobe between his fingers and running the pad of his thumb over the little indentation of her second piercing, “so I wanted to cover my bases.”

As she gapes at the jewelry, he runs his knuckle over her bare arm. “You like them?”

“Are you kidding? I love them. This is too much.”

_Too much_ worries him a little. Has he moved too fast? Is the gift too ostentatious this early in their relationship? They’ve only been dating a few months – it’s true – but he’s been in love with her for years. It’s difficult to know where the boundaries lie with their complicated past.

“Oh. Sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no. You just – you don’t need to spend so much money on me. You know I can’t return the favor right now.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

“OK then I guess I’ll let you shower me with gifts. For you, of course. To make you happy.”

He laughs and kisses the inside of her elbow. 

She carefully takes the earrings out of the box and puts them in her ears, running her fingertips over them once they’re securely in place. Reluctantly she rises from the cocoon of the bed to view herself in the mirror above her dresser.

“Wow,” she says, admiring the glimmer of the earrings. 

Sunlight streams through the window, catching the diamonds and illuminating the curves of her body. Her hair, messy with sleep, falls down her back in tangles, the light creating little glints of reddish highlights. He wishes he could stop time, freeze this moment.

He rises from the bed and runs his hands over her hips, kissing her shoulder. “You should go out just like this.” 

“Oh yeah, like you would approve of that,” she teases. “Mr. Proper Plimpton would love for me to hit the streets of West Covina in full Lady Godiva.”

He sneaks his arms around her waist, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder. “I’ll settle for spending all day here in semi-nakedness.”

“But we have to go to work,” she whines.

“Let’s play hooky,” he says. “Tell AJ it’s a holiday and you need the day off. Say your mom’s in town or something.”

She spins around in his arms and wraps her hands around his neck with an inquisitive expression. “Who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend, Nathaniel Plimpton the third?”

He chuckles. He doesn’t know what’s come over him either. All he knows is he loves the feeling of her in his arms, skin-to-skin, and he wants to indulge. He wants to sit in barely any clothing and watch movies and eat food he’s not supposed to eat and laugh and talk and just _be_ with her. That would be _his_ gift, if he could ask for anything.

“I mean, normally I wouldn’t take off for Hanukkah – it’s a pretty minor holiday, actually, not a Jewish Christmas like everyone thinks – but AJ won’t know the difference.” She ponders it for a few more seconds, then adds with a grin, “OK. Let’s do it.”

She throws on a long blue robe and leaves the bedroom to talk to AJ. As she explains the situation, Nathaniel stays deadly silent in the bedroom, hoping they didn’t make too much noise this morning and tip AJ off to the fact that this is all a ruse for them to spend the day naked together.

He spots Rebecca’s other robe – a short, purple, cotton one – hanging on the back of her bedroom door and throws it on. The sleeves ride up comically to his elbows and the hem barely covers the tops of his thighs. One wrong move and he could potentially flash his entire downstairs. He hopes the sight of him will elicit a laugh from her.

The front door clicks shut a few moments later and he prepares for her return to the bedroom, hiking one of his feet up on the bed in a faux casual pose. When she opens the door, her eyes go wide for a moment, taking in the obscene tableau, and he is rewarded with a hardy laugh, just like he wanted.

“You’re going to be arrested for public indecency!” she squeals, taking his face between her hands and pecking him on the lips.

He wraps his arms around her, her nose poking awkwardly into the column of his throat. “Good thing we’re not leaving the house then.”

Over her shoulder, he notices for the first time that her keyboard has moved from its usual spot in the center of the living room to shoved up against the wall, all her books in a haphazard pile on the floor beside it. It reminds him that today is the second Friday of the month, the first since they were banned from _Open Mike’s_. On one hand, perhaps takeout food, bad movies, and sex could distract her from the significance of this particular day. But the sight of the keyboard preverbially tossed aside concerns him and wins out over the urge to ignore it. 

“Rebecca, why is –”

Before he’s able to finish his question, there is a knock at the front door. Rebecca jumps a little in his arms, just as surprised as he is.

“Who could that be?” he asks.

“I have no idea.” 

She pads to the front door and Nathaniel follows, curious, hanging a few paces back. 

Rebecca only turns the knob a smidgen and the door flies open, a woman crashing into the apartment like a tornado. She’s dragging a rolling suitcase behind her and throws up her arms celebratorily once she crosses the threshold.

“Surprise!”

Rebecca wraps her robe tighter around her, her eyes bugging out, and yells, “Mom?! What are you doing here?”

Horrified by his own lack of clothing, Nathaniel covers his lap with both his hands and frantically looks around for an escape, which he quickly realizes is impossible without attracting attention.

Naomi says with an air of nonchalance, “You haven’t shown up for Hanukkah since you moved to this god forsaken place, so I decided to come to you! Close your mouth, you look like a fish.”

Rebecca snaps her mouth closed, which had fallen and stayed open when Naomi burst through the door. 

“Mom,” she says, calm and steady, “we’ve talked about this.”

That’s when Naomi notices Nathaniel standing behind the couch, desperately trying to cover his private parts. 

“Who’s this, your newest disaster?” she says. It takes a moment, but she squints at Nathaniel and recognition flashes on her face. “Oh no, I remember you. You’re the knight in shining armor who flew her deadbeat father on a private jet to her wedding. And for what? To humiliate her even more than she was already humiliated by the dimwit Josh Chan?”

Rebecca, exasperated, pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“Mom –”

“Not to mention this is the guy you went to jail for, right? And was all the sex really worth it?”

“Mom –”

“Though you _are_ a partner at your law firm, right? At least you have that going for you. A big step up from a guy working at _Best Buy_.”

“Mom!!!” she yells. She checks herself, taking a deep breath before she goes on. “Remember we had a talk about my choices. About you respecting them?”

“Sweetie, I’m just giving you a hard time. I’m just razzing you.” To Nathaniel she says, “This one is so sensitive. Can’t take a harmless joke.”

Flabbergasted to the point of speechlessness, Rebecca opens her mouth but words fail her. She gives Nathaniel an apologetic look and all he can do is return it with a grimace, not sure what the hell he should do. 

Regaining her faculties after a few seconds, Rebecca finally says, “Um, Nathaniel, why don’t you get a little more dressed so I can have a chat with my mother.”

He’s relieved to be given an out of this uncomfortable situation. With no other recourse, he crosses the room in an utterly undignified, awkward sidestep as he tries not to expose himself any further to Naomi. As he’s closing the door to the bedroom, he says, “Nice to see you again.”

When he’s safely inside her bedroom, he slumps against the door. What could be more humiliating than standing in front of his girlfriend’s mother with his junk practically dangling out of a woman’s robe? He drags his hand over his face and stews in the embarrassment.

He’s not able to fully indulge in the masochism of the moment, however, because he can hear everything happening on the other side of the door. The walls of the apartment are paper thin so, although he knows Rebecca wants privacy, he can’t help but listen to their conversation. 

“Mom, you can’t do this,” Rebecca says in a gentle tone. “You can’t show up unannounced at my door like this. This is crossing a boundary. You know that.”

Nathaniel finds his pants on the floor and starts pulling them on as quietly as possible. 

Naomi replies, “Is it so wrong for a mother to want to see her daughter? You hardly ever come visit. I never hear from you. I know we’ve been through some hard times, Becky, but you’re still my daughter.”

“But why couldn’t you just call and ask me? We could have arranged something.”

There is a heavy silence and Nathaniel freezes, listening intently. 

Naomi says, softer, “I thought you would say _no_.”

The room goes silent again, the tension palpable. 

“We’ve talked about this,” Rebecca says, finally, after a long pause. 

“I know, I know,” Naomi says, annoyed.

“No, clearly you don’t know. This is serious, Mom. Don’t be dismissive. Don’t minimize. You need to respect me. And you need to respect choices.”

Nathaniel can’t believe his ears. The way she’s talking to her mother – so assertive – is a huge contrast to how she behaved toward her parents at her wedding and engagement party. This is an entirely different Rebecca. He cannot fathom having the courage to say something like that to his own parents. He’s so rarely defied them, if ever. Instinctually his stomach tightens in fear, waiting to hear Naomi’s response.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Naomi says after a long, thoughtful pause, her voice thick. 

“Thank you, Mom.” 

Nathaniel exhales, relieved. There’s a rustling sound and he assumes they’re hugging.

The way Rebecca diffused the situation was masterful. He wonders how she knew what to say, what to do, to assuage her mother so quickly. Not for the first time, he’s in awe of the person she’s become. 

“And I’m sorry,” Naomi continues, “for whatever _coitus interruptus_ I may have caused. He _is_ quite a tall drink of water, that one. Nice tuches.”

“Mom!” she exclaims. Rebecca laughs and Naomi cackles, and he can’t believe how deftly they’ve shifted from an argument to gossiping like old friends. With the merciful break of tension, he grabs his sweater off the floor and pulls it over his head.

“Be careful, though, dear. I’m not saying that as a judgment of your choices. I’m saying it as a mother whose daughter went to jail after getting caught up with this guy. This is only motherly concern, that’s all.”

“I know how it looks. But it’s different this time.” After a beat, she adds gently, “I really love this guy.”

His breath catches in his throat and he’s frozen, hanging on every hushed syllable. 

“Oh I’ve heard that one before,” Naomi says derisively and he can feel her eye roll from the other side of the door. 

He exhales, disappointed. Of course she’s professed true love many times before. He remembers how adamant and steadfast she was about her love for Josh when they first met, even after they kissed in the elevator. Declarations of true love are not unusual for her. In fact, they’re the norm.

“I know you have no reason to believe me and I know I’ve said it before, but I really do think this is something special,” she says and he almost feels like she’s saying it directly to him, reassuring him. “It feels . . . different. _I_ feel different. So different. In a good way. So please keep any judgments to yourself.”

“If he got you those earrings for Hanukkah, I won’t utter another peep the rest of my life,” Naomi says with a haughty laugh. “I did like the way he called your father a dick at your wedding.”

There’s a short silence and then they both start laughing maniacally. 

“Listen,” Rebecca says, once their laughter dies down, “how about we get you into a hotel? I planned to spend the day with Nathaniel and that’s what I’m going to do. We can reconvene for dinner. I’ll have time to host you then.”

Again Nathaniel tenses up, and he senses a bit of resistance from Naomi in the pause before she answers, “OK. Fine.”

Nathaniel takes that as his cue to exit the bedroom and both women look up at him from where they both are now sitting on the couch.

“Sorry,” he says, though he has nothing to apologize for. 

“Let’s try this again,” Rebecca says, rising from the couch. “Mom, you remember Nathaniel, obviously. Nathaniel, my mother.”

Nathaniel does a little leap to the couch and shakes her hand. “Pleasure to see you again,” he says formally. “Sorry about my . . . state of undress earlier.”

“No,” Naomi says, standing from the couch, “no, no, no. I barged in unannounced on the two of you. This is my fault. I will see you at dinner. You better put me up someplace nice. I know you can afford it.”

“Absolutely,” he says, “though the nicest hotel you’ll find in West Covina is the Holiday Inn.”

“Fine. And take me to that fancy place for dinner. _Pepper and Oil_?”

“You got it,” he says. “My treat.”

Satisfied, Naomi nods and grabs the handle of her rolling suitcase. In a final show of pride, she says, “No need to drive me. I know how to Uber now.”

As soon as the door shuts, Rebecca frames her face with her hands and says, “Oh my god, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to meet my mother this soon and especially not like this.”

He ruminates for a moment on _this soon_.

“No, it’s – it’s OK,” he says.

“Are you sure?” 

“Besides the fact that your mother may have seen my penis –”

Rebecca groans.

“– it’s no problem. Really. And you didn’t need to ask her to leave. I could go.”

She shakes her head vehemently. “No. That’s sweet of you, but you don’t understand. If I give my mother an inch – if she has an inkling that I’ll allow this kind of behavior – she’ll take a freaking mile. Trust me.”

Once again he’s struck by how swiftly and maturely she handled her mother. He wishes he had that kind of bravery to stand up to his father. She’s strong, stronger than he has ever dared to be, stronger than he ever gave her credit for. 

It’s downright terrifying how much he loves her. 

He wants to tell her. It’s on the tip of his tongue, but the words catch in his throat. An invisible wall blocks them from surfacing and he swallows, letting the moment pass. 

“Are you sure you want to come to dinner with us? You really don’t have to. I know meeting parents in the context of a romantic relationship is a definite _thing_. I don’t want to pressure you all of a sudden.”

“You mean the way I sprung my mother on you?”

If she felt any amount of awkwardness about meeting his mother, she doesn’t show it. She laughs, her eyes sparkling. _I love you_ , he thinks, again.

Instead, he says, “I wouldn’t mind having dinner with her. If she doesn’t like _me_ , maybe she’ll like my wallet.”

Rebecca squeezes her eyes shut, embarrassed. “You heard our entire conversation, didn’t you?”

He bits his lip, nods. 

“It’s not that she doesn’t like you. I just don’t exactly have the best track record with relationships. Obviously,” she says, wringing her fingers together anxiously. 

“You don’t have to explain. I understand.”

“Well, I guess that answers a lingering question I had.”

“What question?”

“If we were going to spend the holidays together. Again, I didn’t want to . . . rush.”

It’s reassuring that she feels the same way he does – uncertain about the pace of their relationship. The romantic aspect of their relationship has started anew, but with all their history it feels tempting to skip ahead, jump over some traditional steps. More than anything he wants to do things the _right_ way this time, not hurry anything, and, clearly, she feels the same. He knows how she’s struggled with romantic relationships and he acutely senses the push-and-pull within her, the constant battle between diving in headfirst and pulling back on the reins. But how are they supposed to know what _right_ is? 

Gently, he says, “Listen, I don’t want you to worry about that. Let’s just take things one day at a time. We’re spending the first night of Hanukkah together. And, despite the intrusion on our impromptu celebration, I’m happy to spend it with you.”

She smiles, pleased by his response, and he reaches out and touches her ears, rubbing his thumb over the earrings. His fingers slide around her neck and he pulls her closer, kisses her cheek.

With Naomi safely tucked away at a hotel, an in-room massage scheduled for the afternoon, compliments of his credit card, they spend the rest of the day together as planned. They turn on a channel with an endless stream of cheesy holiday romance movies as background noise. They laugh. They make out. They talk for hours. They order Chinese dumplings for lunch and Nathaniel tries to teach her the proper way to hold chopsticks. It ends with her mock stabbing him in the throat in a way that feels eerily, erotically familiar. 

Toward the end of the afternoon, when her head is resting in his lap and he’s combing her hair with his fingers, he realizes that he could envision this again – her, them, together – in a _for as long as they both shall live_ way. A forever way. And this time, maybe for the first time, that future is a very real possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day. I didn't intend to post on Valentine's Day, but this is what happens when you're wayyyy behind writing schedule! 
> 
> Thanks to all the usual suspects (Kayleigh and Elle). Thank you especially for putting up with all my rewrites of the last paragraph. Pencils down!


End file.
